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K^ mTEODUOTIOI^ 



THE STUDY OF 



ENGLISH LITEEiTURE; 



COMPRISING EEPUESENTATIVE MASTERPIECES IN POETRY AND 
PROSE, MARKING THE SUCCESSIVE STAGES OF ITS GROWTH. 
AND A METHODICAL EXPOSITION OF THE GOVERNING 
PRINCIPLES AND GENERAL FORMS, BOTH OP THE 
LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE ; WITH CO- 
PIOUS NOTES ON THE SELECTIONS, 
GLOSSARY, AND CHRONOLOGY, 
DESIGNED FOR SYSTEM- 
ATIC STUDY. 



BY^/ 



HENRY N. DAY, 



AUTUOB OF " LOGIC," '■'• ART OF COMPOSITION," "ART OF DISCOUHSE," " BHETOBIGAL 
PEAXI3," " AMKKICAN 8PELLF.E," ETC. 




NEW YORK: 
CHARLES SCRIBNER AND COMPANY. 

1869. 




J 3 




Entered according to Act of Congress, m the year 1868, by 

Charles Soribnee and Ccmpakt, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 



RrVEKSIDE, CAMBBIDGE : 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED B? 

H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



PREFACE. 



It is a most gratifying sign of progress in our educa- 
tional pursuits that the study of our vernacular lan- 
guage and literature is receiving such increasing atten- 
tion and favor. Such an exclusion from our courses of 
instruction of the study of English as has prevailed 
heretofore, cannot be vindicated on any ground except 
that of the want of the needful helps and guides. 
Happily this want has been responded to by numerous 
and able contributors both to linguistic science gen- 
erally and also to the proper knowledge of the English 
tongue. There is ample reason for believing not only 
that the chief aim and object in education — the quick- 
ening and shaping and starting in fixed habit the vari- 
ous faculties and capacities of the mind — may be best 
effected by the introduction of English into the course, 
but also that even the particular ends of classical 
studies may most fully and easily be attained by it. 
The light that the learner may gather from a short 
study of his vernacular will dissipate a great deal of 
obscurity, through which without such help he can but 
grope with much trouble, and perplexity, and hin- 
drance. 



IV PREFACE. 

The numerous text-books in English literature that 
have been within the last four years called forth by 
the growing interest in the study, are chiefly of two 
classes : one class consisting of brief selections ac- 
companied with brief biographical sketches of authors, 
and presented in chronological order ; the other class 
being characteristically histories of authorship in Eng- 
lish. There seems to be wanting still a manual that 
shall introduce the learner to the literature itself as a 
growth. In order to this it is necessary to take speci- 
mens of our literature at certain marked stages of its 
growth, and as represented in its best forms by the best 
writers. Further, not mere fragments of poems or of 
prose discourses, comprising but a few verses or a few 
paragraphs, but entire artistic products, so far as prac- 
ticable, must be presented. Still further, no worthy 
study of our literature as an historic growth is possible 
except as it is investigated in its proper form and style 
belonging to it at the time of its production. Modern- 
ized forms of it only mislead and hinder. Moreover, 
as the great objection to the study of English literature 
has been that it has no plan, no method ; as system is 
necessary which shall further the great disciplinary 
ends of education, and particularly shall give the 
learner possession of the principles which have pre- 
sided over the growth and shaping of our language 
and literature, and of the general facts in regard to its 
manifold forms, so that he may appreciate its true ex- 
cellences, understand its apparent anomalies, and so 



PREFACE. V 

reduce tliem to rule and be prepared to prosecute his 
studies as well as guide his selections in the reading to 
be incidentally pursued in subsequent life, it is neces- 
sary to refer the learner all along to the elements of 
our literature, that by the study of single words, of 
single sentences, of single poems or discourses, he may 
gradually come to a methodical and familiar acquaint- 
ance with all the characteristic phenomena of our lan- 
guage and literature. 

Such is accordingly the motive to the preparation 
of this new text-book, and such its design and plan. 
The book consists of two parts. In the first part, after 
a chapter on the origin and affinities of our language, 
selections preceded by brief biographical or historical 
notices are given from our greatest authors, those con- 
ceived to be the best representatives of our literature 
at the special stage of its growth when they wrote. 
As far as possible complete poems, or large extracts are 
presented, so that they may be studied in respect to the 
thought, its character and form, and also aesthetically 
as complete artistic products. These selections are fol- 
lowed by copious notes, etymological, gi'ammatical, his- 
torical, and gesthetical, referring all along to the sys- 
tematic presentation of the elements of our language 
and literature which constitute the second part. The 
selections are given in the orthographical form of the 
original editions so far as has been practicable ; as 
there can be no satisfactory study of the orthographical 
peculiarities of our language without such an historic 



VI PREFACE. 

study of the changes in the forms of our words. A 
special care has accordingly been taken to obtain a re- 
print from the best accessible editions ; and where it 
has seemed important, a careful collation has been 
made with other editions of established reputation. 
In this connection grateful acknowledgment should be 
made of the courteous permission expressly accorded 
by Messrs. Ticknor and Fields, publishers of the works 
of Professor Longfellow, to insert the selections from 
" Hiawatha." 

The second part presents our language and litera- 
ture in their elements in systematic order. Here are 
exhibited the principles governing the rise and forma- 
tion of language ; of English orthoepy, orthography, 
syllabication, word-formation, and of poetic forms in 
English ; the growth of our literature, also, in its sev- 
eral departments of oratory, history, scientific dis- 
course, fiction, the drama, and poetry, with notice of 
leading authors in each department separately in 
their chronological succession. 

The endeavor has been, while directing the study 
to the literature itself and not to a history of author- 
ship, so to present the subject that it can be studied 
in specially assigned lessons, with a clear understanding 
of what is to be done in preparing the lesson, as in our 
common text-books in classical literature. Here has 
lain the chief difficulty in directing the study hitherto ; 
the learner has not known what he is to do in the 
study, or if he may have conjectured this or that thing 



!] 



PREFACE. Vil- 

as the proper thing to be done, the needful aids were 
wanting. And there was no system. He might study 
out this or that word ; this or that pecuharity in sen- 
tence-construction ; this or that rhetorical figure ; this 
or that poetical form ; this or that historic or sesthetic 
element. But this gathering of scattered, isolated 
parts with no eye to system, to order, or to complete- 
ness, is of as httle profit as of satisfaction. Study to 
be of service must be definite and must be comprehen- 
sive ; must know its road and see that it leads through 
to the end of the science. 

In the study of the parallel versions of a portion of 
the Bible, an initiation is afforded into the etymology 
of the language. The individual word, in its history, 
its affinities, its form, its meaning and use, may be 
studied by the help of the Notes and the Glossary. It 
is thought that the student will be made to such a de- 
gree conversant with this branch of study, that he will 
not only be able, but will be prompted to study out 
afterwards any word that may occur, having the need- 
ful helps, just as the young botanist, after the analysis 
of a few scores or at least a few hundreds of flowers, is 
qualified to analyze any plant that may offer. This 
etymological study may be continued in the subsequent 
selections at pleasure ; but it has not been deemed 
necessary to work out for the student every word that 
occurs, but only such as for some reason invited special 
attention. There are in fact several distinct ends to be 
prosecuted in a study of literature which may advantage- 



Vm PREFACE. 

ously be pursued, for a time at least, separately and 
successively. Thus the etymology, the history of the 
word-forms, may be exclusively studied at the outset ; 
then the grammatical features, the elements of the sen- 
tence, may be attended to ; then the rhetorical ele- 
ments ; then the more general historical and biograph- 
ical as well as assthetic characteristics. In this way 
method and completeness, and thus satisfaction and 
profit, will be secured in the study. 

New Haven, September, 1868. 



CONTENTS. 



PART I. — HISTORY AND SELECTIONS. 

CHAPTER I. — ORIGIN AND AFFINITIES. 
1. The Dispersion of the Race and the Confusion of Tongues; 2. The 
Migrations; 3. Origin of Speech in the Instinct to communicate Thought; 
4. The First Words; 5. Languages, Monosyllahic, Agglutinative, and In- 
flectional; 6. The Indo-European Family of Languages; 7. The English a 
Dialect of the Low German Branch: 8. The Celtic Element in English; 9. 
The Roman Invasion ; 10. The Anglo-Saxon Occupation of England; 11. 
The Danish and Noi-wegian Invasions; 12. The Norman Conquest. 

.CHAPTER IL— REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

1. Versions of the Bible; Notes on the Versions; State of the Language 
in the Latter Part of the Fourteenth Century ; 2. The Vision of Piers Plough- 
man; Notes on the Selection from Piers Ploughman: 3. Sir John Mande- 
ville ; Notes on Selection ; 4. Geoffrey Chaucer — Canterbury Tales ; Notes on 
the Clerkes Tale ; 5. Edmund Spenser — The Faerie Queene; Notes on the 
Selections; 6. Richard Hooker — Ecclesiastical Polity; Notes on the Selec- 
tion ; 7. William Shakespeare — Julius Caisar ; Notes on Julius Csesar ; 8. 
John Milton — Samson Agonistes; Notes on Samson Agonistes; 9. Joseph 
Addison — Spectator; Notes on Selections; 10. Alexander Pope — The 
Rape of the Lock; Notes on The Rape of the Lock; 11- William Cowper — 
The Task ; Notes on the Selections from The Task ; 12. Alfred Tennyson — 
Elaine; Notes on Elaine; 13. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Hiawatha; 
Notes on Selections from Hiawatha. 

PART II. — ELEMENTS OF THE ENGLISH LAN- 
GUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

CHAPTER I. — FORMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 

§ 1. Nature of Language, expressing Thought, social, through Articulate 
Sound; § 2. Its Elements, (1) Thought, (2) Person, (3) Matter of Thought; 
§ 3. Matter Element, (1) Subject, (2) Attribute; § 4. Pronominal Element; 
§5. Thought Element, Negation, Moods; §6. Modifying Elements; §7- 



X CONTENTS. 

Notion Words distinguished by Forms ; § 8. Formative Elements — Form 
Words; §9. Language Articulate — Interjectional and Onomatopoetic 
Theories; § 10. Languages distinguished as Monosyllabic, Agglutinative, 
and Inflectional ; § 11. Language ever changing. 

CHAPTER IL — DEPARTMENTS OF LANGUAGE AND LITERA- 
TURE. 

CHAPTER III. — ORTHOEPY. 

§ 13. Elements — Phthongal and Aphthongal; Vowels and Consonants; 
Organic Position; § 14. Rise of Vowels; § 15. Rise of Consonants; § 16. 
Orthoepic System. 

CHAPTER IV. — ORTHOGRAPHY. 

§ 17. Orthography defined; § 18. Expedients to distinguish Quantity; 
§19. Expedients to distinguish Phthongal and Aphthongal Elements; § 20. 
Digraphs; § 21. Expedients to show Character of Sound ; § 22. Diphthongs; 
§ 23. Diverse Functions of Characters ; § 24. Homonyms : § 25. Influence of 
Typography on Orthography ; § 26. The Final E ; § 27. Alphabetic System. 

CHAPTER v. — SYLLABICATION. 

§ 28. Syllable as to its Essential Nature; § 29. Syllabication Threefold; 
§ 30. Orthoepic Syllabication; § 31. Etymological Syllabication; § 32. 
Orthographic Syllabication. 

CHAPTER VL — ACCENTUATION. 
§ 33. Accent defined ; § 34. Principles of Accent. 

CHAPTER VII. — DERIVATION. 

§ 35. Principles and Modes of Derivation, Grimm's Law; § 36. Composi- 
tion; §37. Affixes; §38. Euphonic Afiixes; §39. Orthographic Aftixes; 
§40. Thought Affixes; § 4L Matter Affixes; §42. Grammatical Afiixes; 
§43. Discriminative Affixes; §44. Prefixes; §45. Suffixes; § 46. Internal 
Changes in Words; § 47. Changes in use of Words; § 48. Admission of 
New Words ; § 49. Rules of Admission. 

CHAPTER VIII. —PUNCTUATION. 
§ 50. Definition and Kinds. 

CHAPTER IX. — PROSODY. 

§51. Kinds; § 52. Alliteration; § 53. Rhyme; § 54. Rhythm; § 55. 
Stanza, § 56. Sonnet; § 57. Ca;sura. 

CHAPTER X. — ORATORY. 

§ 58. Definition and Departments of Oratory; § 59. Sacred Oratory; 
§ 60. Judicial ; § 61. Deliberative. 



CONTENTS. xi 

CHAPTER XI. —HISTORY. 

§ 62. History Proper ; § 63. Biography. 

CHAPTER XII. — SCIENTIFIC DISCOURSE. 

§64. Departments; § 65. Theology; §66. Metaphysics; §67. Physics; 
68. Periodical Literature and Encyclopsedias. 

CHAPTER Xm. — FICTION, § 69. 

CHAPTER XIV. — DRAMATIC LITERATURE, § 70. 

CHAPTER XV. — POETRY. 

§ 7L Epic; § 72. Elegiac; § 73. Didactic. 

CHRONOLOGY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

GLOSSARY. 

INDEX. 



ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THIS WORK. 



adj. stands for adjectiTe. 


Ir. stands for Irish. 


act. 


. . active. 


Ital. . 


. . Italian. 


A.-S. . 


. . Anglo-Saxon. 


Lat. . 


. . Latin. 


aug. . 


. . augmentative. 


m., mas 


c. . masculine. 


aux. . 


. . auxiliary. 


mid. . 


. . middle. 


ef. . 


compare. 


n. . . 


. . noun, note. 


Ch. . 


. Chaucer. 


neut. . 


. . neuter. 


comp. 


. compound. 


N. F. . 


. . Norman French. 


compar. 


. comparative. 


nom. . 


. . nominative. 


eonj. . 


. conjunction. 


0. Eng. 


. . Old English. 


C. T. . 


. Canterbury Tales. 


obj. 


. . objective. 


B. . . 


. . Dutch. 


P. L. . 


. . Paradise Lost. 


Ban. . 


. Danish. 


part. . 


. . participle. 


dat. . 


. dative. 


pass. . 


. . passive. 


def. . 


. definitive. 


pers. . 


. . person. 


dem. . 


. demonstrative. 


plu. 


. . plural. 


der. . . 


. derived, derivative. 


poet. . 


. . poetical. 


dim. . 


. diminutive. 


pas. 


. . possessive. 


e.g. . 


. for example. 


prep. . 


. . preposition. 


Eng. . 


. England, English. 


pres. . 


. . present. 


F. Q. . 


. Faerie Queene. 


pret. 


. . preterit. 


fern. . 


. feminine. 


pron. . 


. . pronoun. 


fieq. . 


. frequentative. 


q. V. . 


. . which see. 


fut. . 


. future. 


R. L. . 


. . Eape of the Lock. 


gen. . 


. genitive. 


S.A. . 


. . Samson Agonistea 


Ger. . 


. German. 


Sans. . 


. . Sanskrit. 


Gloss. . 


. Glossary. 


Sax. . 


. . Saxon. 


Goth. . 


. Gothic. 


sing. . 


. . singular. 


Gr. . 


. Greek. 


Sp. . 


. . Spanish. 


Heb. 


Hebrew. 


sup. 


. . superlative. 


i. e. 


that is. 


syn. . 


. . synonym. 


imp. 


imperative. 


term. . 


. . termination. 


imperf. 


. imperfect. 


t\ . . 


. . verb. 


ind. 


. indicative. 


V. n. . 


. . verbal noun. 


inf. . 


. . infinitive. 


V. i. . 


. . verb intransitive. 


int. 


. interjection. 


V. t. . 


. . verb transitive. 


1 q. . 


. . the same as. 


ver. 


. . verse. 



ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



PART I. 

HISTORY AND SELECTIONS. 



CHAPTER L 

OEIGIN AND AFFINITIES. 

1. The most advanced investigations of philological 
science significantly point to an original unity of race and 
of language; and the Biblical narrative of the dispersion of 
the human family, and of the contemporaneous confusion 
of human speech, is the most trustworthy theory of race 
and dialect that the science of language and of literature, 
at its present stage, can projDOse to itself. • 

According to that narrative, a few centuries after the 
Deluge, the race of man, that up to that time had been 
kept together in the use of the same language, broke asun- 
der, to seek in families or in larger tribal communities sep- 
arate abodes for themselves, and in the separation framed 
to themselves separate dialects. This was the great his- 
torical epoch of the dispersion of the race and of the 
confusion of speech. 

Whatever may have been the particular dialect spoken 
before the dispersion, whether more or less developed, it 
was among the necessities of things that, in a few cen- 
1 



2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

turies, or even in a few generations, possibly in a single 
century, there should be a diversity of dialects which would 
be hardly intelligible beyond the respective families or 
tribes that spoke them. Small roving bands, scattering 
themselves over the unoccupied earth, with few wants to 
express, with no literature, no laws, no government, no social 
organization but that of the family, with no arts, dwelling 
in tents, in cabins, or in caves, could have had but the 
most meager vocabularies, and the rudest forms of speech. 
Moreover, even if the original speech had been as highly 
developed and inflected as the family of the Hebrew dia- 
lects, it could not but be that in a few generations, in such 
roving communities ever coming into collision with other 
similar migratory bands, the inflectional elements, together 
with all the formative words which are used to show the rela- 
tions of thought, would fall away, and language would lapse 
to its primitive stock of root-words denoting only objects, 
with perhaps the common sign of negation, and the few 
pronominal elements. In communities, especially, of but 
little intellectual activity, this would be inevitably the re- 
sult ; while families or tribes characterized by great activity 
of thought in social directions, by enterprise, by inventive 
or poetic genius, might develop, in brief periods of time, 
dialects of great richness in number of words, and also in 
formative elements. 

Such was the condition of the race, and of its speech, in 
the period just preceding the dawn of history. The race 
was migratory ; the speech was diversified. 

2. The migrations of the human family were, under gen- 
eral and diverse providential promptings, yet controlled by 
the affinities of descent and blood. 

The descendants of Shem spread themselves over the 
extensive plains drained by the Euphrates and the Tigris, 
and passed over southwardly into Arabia, and westwardly 
into Syria. 

The descendants of Ham occupied territories along the 



OKIGIN AND AFFINITIES. 3 

Persian Gulf and in Southern Arabia, and also the southern 
coasts of the Levant, with Egypt and Ethiopia. 

The descendants of Japheth, in one division, occupied 
Armenia, and the coasts of the Euxine. In another they 
moved southeastwardly over into Media, and thence down 
into Hindostan. In other divisions still, they moved west- 
wardly to the coasts and islands of the JEgeau, and north- 
wardly spread over the higher latitudes of Asia and of 
Europe. This branch of the descendants of Noah, choos- 
ing the less inviting regions, and the less propitious cli- 
mates of the earth, scattered themselves the most widely, 
and became incomparably the most numerous of the three 
original branches, and most diversified in their speech. 
The great mass of the earth's inhabitants are descendants 
of Japhetli ; the great body of human dialects are Japhetic. 
Of Japhetic descent are the most elevated and also the 
most degraded portions of the race, as the most squalid 
poverty, the greatest ignorance, and the basest vice are 
found in closest proximity with the greatest affluence, the 
most advanced culture, and the highest refinement. 
. 3. Human speech originates in the instinct divinely im- 
planted in man's nature to communicate thought. The 
internal principle, the life of speech, is thought, not feeling, 
not purpose ; and not mere thought, but thought that is to 
be communicated. While language proceeds from thought, 
it proceeds only in forms that can be understood in com- 
mon by him that speaks, and by him that is spoken to. A 
primary and indispensable condition of the rise of speech is 
this : that the thought be expressed in a sound that shall 
be identified with the thought in the minds of both speaker 
and hearer. 

This sound, which shall be the symbol of the thought to 
be communicated, may, in some cases, be identified with 
it, by its being the natural expression of the thought. The 
root of the word horror, the elements of which are the 
rough breathing and the vibrant r connected by a related 



4 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

vowel, might easily symbolize the feeling of cold, of fear, 
and like sensations and emotions, when such a feeling 
happened to modify and characterize the thought to be com- 
municated. From this partial fact, the inter jectional theory 
of the origin of language has proceeded. See Part IL, 
Chap. I., § 9. 

The object thought may be identified with the sound 
also through the resemblance of the sound to that which 
may be given out, or occasioned in some way by the object. 
Many attributes are symbolized through this mode of iden- 
tification, as caw, coo, hark, yelp, whistle, crealc, etc., sug- 
gest the objects which give forth sounds resembling these 
vocal utterances. From this partial fact another theory of 
the origin of speech has arisen, called the imitative, or so- 
called onomatopoetic theory. 

The object thought may, further, be identified with the 
sound through some accidental association with it in time 
and place. Or still further, a visible object already named 
may be identified in some way with the thought to be ex- 
pressed. Rock comes to denote thus, shelter from heat or 
storm, protection, security, and the like. So other senses 
furnish their respective symbols of objects. And generally 
through identification, in some way more or less direct, of 
the thoiight with the sound, in the common experience of 
speaker and hearer, all language comes to be. 

4. The first words were doubtless names of objects, 
which were either subjects or attributes. A very common 
name oi father, is a syllable composed of a p, b, m, or other 
labial consonant, and the vowel a. The child bestows that 
sound on its parent as a seen and known concrete being, 
without necessary reference to any one attribute. Or some 
attribute of the object may be in the thought, and the word 
is provided to denote that ; man may have come from the 
already thought and named attribute expressed by that 
sound — minding or thinking. 

As all language contains, besides the proper pronominal 



ORIGIN AND AFFINITIES. 5 

elements, two others — the object or matter which is 
thought, and the thinking element itself, in the early stages 
of speech only the former of these two elements, the matter, 
finds distinct expression ; the second element, the thought, 
is left to the hearer to supply. The copula is not expressed 
even in highly developed languages, unless emphasized ; it 
is still wanting in the Chinese. The relations of objects in 
thought, and generally all the so-called formative elements, 
whether those of inflection or separate words, as conjunc- 
tions and prepositions, find expression only later in the 
progress of language. The order is : first, the matter 
thought is named ; afterwards the forms of thought 
itself obtain distinct verbal expression. The sign of nega- 
tion, however, comes very early, and from necessity, into 
language ; not improbably is the first form for expressing 
a modification of the thought itself, as distinguished from 
the object of thought, or that of which we think. The first 
and lowest, and the most essential modification of tliought, 
of a judgment, or assertion, is that which distinguishes a 
negative from an affirmative. The positive assertion needs 
no sign ; Numa rex means Numa is king. The negative 
assertion requires a sign. 

There is a third class of elements, distinct from the two 
mentioned, which came very early into language — not 
improbably the third in order of appearance. They are 
those which express the distinctions oi persons, as speaking, 
spoken to, and spoken of — the so-called pronominal ele- 
ments. The articulate sounds taken to represent these 
distinctions are the same in languages otherwise most 
widely separated from one another. 

5. Language, primitively, was in all probability chiefly 
monosyllabic. Such we should suppose, beforehand, would 
be the case ; the thought would be symbolized in the simplest 
sound. The words in some of the least developed existing 
languages are of one syllable. But that dissyllabic words 
should occasionally be introduced is not at all improbable 



6 ENGLISH LITERATUEE. 

in itself; and some of the ruder languages, as the Finnish, 
have dissyllabic roots. 

The first noticeable step in the progress of language 
would be by the combination of these primitive monosyl- 
lables to express some modifications, either of property or 
relation. Thus, in Hungarian, kes means hnife, em the per- 
son speaking ; kes-em denotes my hiife (= kmfe-me) ; nek 
means to, and kes-em-nek, to my knife. Here three sepa- 
rable words are joined together under one accent ; but 
the roots are kept distinct in every combination, and the 
relation between them is not signified otherwise than by 
the mere union under the accent. As languages of the 
former class are called Monosyllahic, those of this class are 
called Agglutinative. 

The third and last step is reached when an element is 
introduced to denote the relation or condition generally, 
and to be applied to all roots that admit the relation, as in 
the Latin cultellus mens, my knife, the us in meus expresses 
the kind of relation between the root me and knife. Lan- 
guages using freely such forms are called Inflectional. 

Linguistic science accordingly distributes languages into 
the three classes according as they are more characteristic- 
ally monosyllabic without accentuated combinations, or with 
such accentuated combinations without proper inflections, 
or lastly inflectional. It must not be supposed, however, 
that any language actually exists which is purely monosyl- 
labic or uninflectional, or that any inflectional language has 
not words formed as in the agglutinative dialects by mere 
combination of separable roots. See, for a fuller view of 
the subject of this section. Part II., Chap. I. 

6. Of the Inflectional class of languages, those of 
Japhetic origin, called the Indo-European, have been gath- 
ered into one family, as they exhibit many signs of a close 
affinity. The family, distributed in respect to geographical 
locality, includes in the Eastern Division, (L) the Sansh'it, 
with its kindred Indian dialects, and (2.) the Iranian in 



ORIGIN AND AFFINITIES. 7 

Persia, Armenia, etc. ; and in the Western Division, (1.) 
the Greek ; (2.) the lllyrian in Albania ; (3.) the Italic, 
embracing the Latin, and the languages of Italy, Spain, 
Portugal, and France ; (4.) the Celtic, embracing the Cym- 
ric or Welsh and the Gaelic in Scotland and Ireland ; (5.) 
the Slavic, including the Lithuanian ; and (6) the Teutonic, 
embracing the three groups of the High German ; the Low 
German or languages of England, Holland, Friesland, and 
the north of Germany ; and the Scandinavian, or the lan- 
guages of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. 

The Semitic are generally inflected, but in different de- 
grees in the different dialects ; in none however so fully as 
in some Japhetic languages. The Hamitic, so far as repre- 
sented in the old Egyptian, is somewhat less perfectly and 
fully inflected than the Semitic. The Japhetic itxmily in- 
cludes the most fully inflected dialects and also the purest 
monosyllabic tongues, the richest and the rudest and all 
intermediate gradations of dialects. 

It is a significant fact bearing on the question of the 
original unil^ of languages, and thus of the original unity 
of the race, as also on the chronology of ancient peoples 
and their affinities, that the earliest known dialects in the 
three great divisions of the race, the Hebrew dialect of the 
Semitic, the old Egyptian of the Hamitic, and the Celtic 
of the Japhetic division, in the first place, are inflected ; in 
the second place, are inflected only to a like limited extent ; 
in the third place, have their inflections formed in leading 
particulars in the same way, as, for instance, having pro- 
nominal suffixes for personal inflections of verbs ; and 
finally, have similar sounds for the sign of negation, and for 
the pronominal elements. In connection with this very re- 
markable coincidence in the three earliest dialects of which 
we have any knowledge, should be considered for the better 
understanding of the history of the rise and changes of dia- 
lects, the well established facts that, on the one hand, a given 
monosyllabic dialect may, under favoring conditions, in a 



8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

brief period be made a highly inflected language, and that 
on the other hand, a highly inflected dialect may also, in a 
brief period, wear off its inflectional elements and become 
characteristically monosyllabic. Either of these transfor- 
mations may in rude migratory tribes be consummated in 
the course of several generations of men. 

7. The English language belongs to the Teutonic branch 
of the Indo-European family, and to the Low German 
division of the Teutonic branch. It is hence closely allied 
to the dialects of Holland and of Friesland, but from the 
peculiarities in the condition of the people among whom it 
has had its growth, it is marked by very distinctive charac- 
teristics. As various tribes or peoples speaking various 
dialects have been brought into communication with one 
another in England, the modern English tongue has re- 
ceived its shape and character from divers sources. 

8. The earliest inhabitants of England, so far as known, 
were of the Gomeric or Celtic family. The Celtic dialect 
being the least developed of the Indo-European family, 
that is, having its formative or grammatical elements which 
express the relations of the thought least developed, it has 
left no traceable effect on the language in its grammatical 
character ; and the modern vocabulary contains but few 
words of well established Celtic origin except names of 
places, rivers, men, etc. Pen in Welsh and Ben in Gaelic 
was the Celtic word fbr hill or mountain ; we have hence 
the familiar names Pen-rose, Pen-zance, Pen-dennis, Ben 
Lomond, Ben Nevis, etc. Aber meant mouth ; hence Aber- 
deen (= a mouth of the Dee). Wans-beck-water, is made up 
of three words of different soiuxes, all signifying water, the 
first being Celtic, the second Saxon. Most names of 
mountains and of rivers in England are Celtic, In names 
of men, 0% Mac, and Ap, are Erse, Gaelic, and Welsh 
respectively, signifying son or descendant; we have thus 
the names of O Oonnell, Macaulay, Ap Richard, now Prich- 
ard, Ap Owen, now Bowen. 



ORIGIN AND AFFINITIES. 9 

It is claimed with much plausibility by a late critic that 
the English literature owes its proper aesthetic spirit — its 
element of style by which it is distinguished from its kin- 
dred Teutonic literatures — to the Celts. 

9. In the year 55 b. c, the Romans under Julius Csesar 
invaded Britain, and followed up their invasion till, under 
Agricola, they subjugated all the southern part of Great 
Britain beyond the Forth, together with the Orkney Islands. 
They made little impression on the language, however, and 
early in the fifth century they were driven out of the island. 
They occupied fortified places and have left traces of their 
tongue in names of places, as Colchester, a compound of 
Lat. colonia and castrum ; Stratton (= street- town), from 
Lat. stratum. In subsequent times the Latin tongue won 
its way into England through the learned professions of 
the church and of the law, and the rites and forms which 
religion and civil polity thus introduced. 

10. About the middle of the fifth century commenced 
the invasions of Britain by the Teutonic tribes. The Jutes 
led the way ; they were followed by the Saxons and Angles, 
and still others from the neighboring islands and coasts of 
the continent. These invaders from Low German and 
Scandinavian tribes gradually supplanted the ancient 
Britons, and mingling together in modes and times to a 
great extent beyond the reach of historic research, intro- 
duced a new speech, the vocabulary of which was derived 
from sources as diverse as the origins of the invading 
bands, and the grammatical structure of which was hetero- 
geneous and peculiar. ' The Angles and the Saxons pre- 
dominating, the resulting language was known as the 
Anglo-Saxon. It is the proper ground-form and germ of 
the modern English. But it was subject to the conditions 
of growth imposed upon it by the growth and destiny of 
those who used it. It became, in fact, subject to very 
remarkable influences determining its growth and character. 

11. In the ninth century the Northmen from Denmark 



10 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

and Norway, of Scandinavian race, began their invasions 
of Britain, and in 1016, under Canute, achieved the sove- 
reignty of England. They brought in a new element and a 
new force into the language, affecting, to some extent, its 
vocabulary and its grammatical forms, but without destroy- 
ing the general identity of the dialect. Some new words 
were brought in ; and the tendency to drop inflections, 
ever attending the mingling of dialects, was considerably 
strengthened. Words and roots, as well as grammatical 
forms, common to the Saxon and Scandinavian, were natu- 
rally more in use and so became more permanent and fixed 
in the growing language. 

12. In 1066 took place the conquest of England by the 
Northmen under William the Conqueror, marking a new 
epoch in the formation of the language. The Northmen, 
branches of the same vigorous stock that had gained sway 
in Denmark and Norway and thence passed to the con- 
quest of England, had pressed also into France, and firmly 
seated themselves there. They did not uproot the language 
spoken by the conquered inhabitants, which was a deriva- 
tive of the Latin ; but the vocabulary retained to a great 
extent its integrity, receiving, however, many new words 
from the conquering race, and the inflectional character 
gave way, as everywhere, before the abrading force of col- 
liding dialects. This gothicized Latin, the Norman French, 
became the dialect of the court of the conqueror in Eng- 
land, and was used in the framing of the laws and gener- 
ally in the administrative life of the people, while the old 
dialect of the conquered people remained in the depart- 
ments of more private life. 

From the fusion of these various peoples and dialects 
arose, in the progress of time, the proper English language. 
It attained full age with fixed and peculiar characteristics in 
that noble literature to which the latter half of the four- 
teenth century gave birth — the age of Langlaude, Mande- 
ville, Wycliffe, Chaucer, and Gower. 



CHAPTER 11. 

REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 
1, VERSIONS OF THE BIBLE. 

The first translation of the entire Scriptures into the English language was made 
by John WyclifiFe or Wiclif, who was born in Yorkshire in 1324, and died December 
31st, 1384:. His translation of the Bible was made from the Vulgate near the close 
of his life. As this was about half a century before the introduction of the art of 
printing, the publication could be effected only by public readings and bj' manu- 
script copies. 

The first translation of the whole Bible from the original Hebrew and Greek was 
made by William Tyndale, born in Yorkshire probably in 1484, and executed in 
Brabant, October 6th, 1586. It was first printed at Worms in 1525. The selec- 
tion here given is from a revision by himself in 1534. 

The Geneva version was made by IVIilee Coverdale and others, fugitives from 
England during the reign of Queen Mar}'. The New Testament was printed in 
Geneva in 1577 ; the whole Bible appeared in 1560. 

The authorized, or King James' version, was first printed in 1611. This version 
wa.s made under the direction of the king, by forty -seven learned men, meeting in 
six different companies, two in Oxford, two in Cambridge, and two in Westminster. 
The Bible, including the Apocrypha, was divided into six parts, and one part given 
to a company, each member of which prepared a translation of the entire part. 
After the translations of these several parts had been compared in each company, 
the approved version was sent to each of the other five companies to be corrected ; 
and finally the whole was revised by a committee of twelve men from the whole 
body of translators. 

The language of this last version, it should be remarked, is more antique than 
that of the age in which it dates. The translators were expressly instructed by the 
king to follow the ordinary Bible read in the churches, called the Bishops' Bible, as 
closely as the original would admit. "The old ecclesiastical words were to be kept, 
as the word church was not to be translated congregation.'''' Moreover, Tyndale's, 
Coverdale's, Matthew's, Cranmer's, and the Geneva translations were to be used 
when they agree better with the text than the Bishops' Bible. Words, phrases, 
forms of sentences which had become antiquated in common use, were thus readily 
retained. Indeed, many of these obsolete expressions were held in a kind of rever- 
ence which would prevent unnecessary change. 

Of these translations, Matthew's appeared in 1537 ; Cranmer's, styled The Great 
Bible, in 1530 ; The Bishops' Bible, in 1568. 

Besides these versions of the Scriptures into English, may be mentioned the Douay 
Bible, of which the New Testament part was printed at Rheims, in 1582, and the 
Old Testament part at Douay, in 1609-10. 

The selections here presented are copied immediately from the English Hexapla, 
published by Samuel Bagster & Sons, London. 



12 



EEPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



VERSIONS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. 



WYCLIFFE— 1380. 

John 14. ' BE not ijoure 
lierte aiFraied : ne drede it, ^e 
bileuen in god i and bileue :^e 
in me, '^ in the hous of my fadir, 
ben many dwellyngis, if ony 
thing lasse I hadde said to ^ou, 

^ for I go to make redi to 5011 
a place, and if I go and make 
redi to 30U a place, eftsone I 
come and I schal take ^ou to 
my silf, that where I am i ^e 
be, 

'^ and whidir I go ^e witen : 
and ^e witen the wey, ^ thomas 
seith to hym, loi'd we witen 
not whidir thou goist, and hou 
moun we wite the weie, 

*'ihesus seith to him, I am 
weye truthe and liif, no man 
cometh to the fadir : but bi me, 
■^ if ^e hadden knowe me i sothli 
^e hadden knowe also my fadir, 
and aftirwavde ^e schuln knowe 
him, and ^e han seen hym. 

^ Filip seith to him, lord schewe 
to us the fadir i and it sufficith 
to us, ^ ihesus seith to hym, so 
long tyme I am with pu : and 
han ^e not knowen me ? Filip, 
he that seeth me i seeth also 
the fadir, hou seist thou : schewe 
to us the fadir, ^° bileuest thou 
not i that I am in the fadir and 
the fadir is in me, the wordis 
that I spcke to jou, I speke not 



TYND ALE— 1534. 

14. ' AND he sayd vnto his 
disciples : Let not youre herte 
be troubled. Beleve in god and 
beleve in me. ^ In my fathers 
housse are many mansions. If it 
were not so, I wolde have tolde 
you. I go to prepare a place 
for you. ^ And yf I go to pre- 
pare a place for you, I will 
come agayne, and receave you 
even vnto my selfe, that where 
I am, there maye ye be also. 
* And whither I go ye knowe, 
and the waye ye knowe. 

^ Thomas sayde vnto him : 
Lorde we knowe not whyther 
thou goest. Also how is it 
possible for vs to knowe the 
waye ? ^ lesus sayd vnto him : 
I am the waye, the truthe and 
the life. And no man commeth 
vnto the father, but by me. "^ Yf 
ye had knowen me, ye had 
knowen my father also. And 
now ye knowe him, and have 
sene him. 

^ PhilijJ sayd vnto him : Lorde 
shew vs the father, and it suf- 
fiseth vs. ^ lesus sayde vnto 
him : have I bene so longe 
tyme with you : and yet hast 
thou not knowen me ? Pliillp, 
he that hath sene me, hath 
sene the father. And how 
sayest thou then : shew vs the 
father ? -^^ Belevest thou not 
that I am in the father, and the 
father in me ? The wordes 
that Ispcakc vnto you, I spcake 



VERSIONS OF THE BIBLE. 



13 



GENEVA — 1557. 

14. AND he saycl vnto his 
disciples, Let not your hart be 
troubled, ye beleue in God : 
beleue also in me. ^In my 
Fathers house are many dwell- 
ing places : if it were not so, I 
would haue tolde you : I go to 
prepare a place for you. ** And 
if I go to prepare a place for 
you, I wil come again, and re- 
ceaue you, euen vnto my selfe : 
that where I am, there may ye 
be also. * And whyther I go 
ye knowe, and the way ye 
knowe. ^ Thomas sayd vnto 
hym, Lord we know not whither 
thou goest : how then is it 
possible for vs to knowe the 
way ? ^ lesus sayd vnto hym, 
I am the T^ay, and the Truth, 
and the Life. No man com- 
meth vnto the Father, but by 
me. '' If ye had knowen me, 
ye sholde haue knowen my 
Father also, and euen now )'e 
knowe him, and haue sene hym. 
^ Philip sayd vnto him, Lord 
shewe vs thy Father, and it suf- 
fiseth vs. ® lesus sayd vnto hym, 
Haue I bene so longe tyme with 
you, and yet hast thou not 
knowen me ? Philip, he that 
hath sene me, hath sene my 
Father : how then sayest thou, 
Shewe vs thy Father ? i° Be- 
leuest thou not, that I am in my 
Father, and my Father in me ? 
The wordes that I speake vnto 
you, I speake not of my selfe : 



AUTHORIZED — 1611. 

14. Let not your heart be 
troubled : yee beleeue in God, 
beleeue also in me. ^In my 
Fathers liouse are many man- 
sions ; if it were not so, I would 
haue told you : I goe to pre- 
pare a place for you. ^ And if 
I goe and prepare a place for 
you, I will come againe, and 
receiue you vnto my selfe, that 
where I am, there ye may be 
also. ^ And whither I goe 
yee know, and the way ye 
know. ^ Thomas saith vnto 
him. Lord, we know not whither 
thou goest : and how can we 
know the way ? 

® lesus saith vnto him, I am the 
Way, the Trueth, and the Life : 
no man commeth vnto the 
Father but by mee. ''If yee had 
knowen me, ye should haue 
knowen my Father also : and 
from henceforth ye know him, 
and haue seene him. ^ Philip 
sayth vnto him. Lord, shew vs 
the Father, and it sufficeth vs. 

^ lesus saith vnto him, Haue I 
bin so long time with you, and 
yet hast thou not knowen me, 
Philip ? he that hath seene 
me, hath seen the Father, and 
how sayest thou then, Shew 
vs the Father ? -^^ Beleeuest 
thou not that I am in the 
Father, and the Father in me ? 
The words that I speake vnto 
you, I speak not of my selfe : 



14 



REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



WYCLIFFE — 1380. 

of my self: but the fadir liym 
silf dwellinge in me, doith the 
werkis, ^^ bileue ^e not that I 
am in the fadir i and the fadir 
is in me ? ellis : bileue ^e for 
thilke werkis, ^^ truli truli I 
seye to ^ou, if a man bileueth 
in me : also he schal do the 
■werkis that I do^ and he schal do 
gretter werkis thanne these^ for 
I go to the fadir, ^^ and what 
euer thing ^e axen the fadir in 
my name : I schal do this thing, 
that the fadir be glorified in the 



^* if ^e axen ony thing in my 
name, I schal do it. ^^ if :^e 
louen me keepe ^e my com- 
aundementis, ^^ and I schal 
preie the fadir : & he schal ^eue 
to ^ou another counfortour the 
spirit of truthe, to dwelle with 
^ou with outen ende, ^'' whiche 
spirit the world may not take, 
for it seeth hym not, nether 
knowith hym, but ^e schuln 
knowe hym : for he schal dwelle 
with ^ou, and he schal be in ^ou, 
■'^ I schal not leue ^ou fadirles : 
I schal come to vou. 



^^ ^it a litll and the world seeth 
not now me, but ^e schuln se 
me i for I lyue and ^e schulen 
lyue, ^" in that day ^e schulen 
knowe that I am in my fadir, 
and ^e in me, and I in ^ou, ^^ he 
that hath my comaundcmentis & 



TYNDALE — 1534. 

not of my selfe : but the father 
that dwelleth in me, is he that 
doeth the workes. ^^ Beleve 
me, that I am [in] the father 
and the father in me. At the 
leest beleve me for the very 
workes sake. 

^^ Verely verely I saye vnto 
you : he that beleveth on me, 
the workes that I doo, the same 
shall he do, and greater workes 
then these shall he do, because 
I go vnto my father. ^^ And 
whatsoever ye axe in my name^ 
that will I do, that the father 
might be glorified by the sonne. 
•^^ yf ye shall axe eny thinge 
in my name, I will do it. 

^''Ifye love me kepe my com- 
maundementes, ^'^ and I will 
praye the father, and he shall 
geve you another comforter, 
that he maye byde with you 
ever, ^"^ which is the sprete of 
truthe whome the worlde cannot 
receave, because the worlde 
seyth him not, nether knoweth 
him. But ye knowe him. For 
he dwelleth with you, and 
shalbe in you. ^^ I will not leave 
you comfortlesse : but will come 
vnto you. 

^^ Yet a litell whyle and the 
worlde seith me no more : but 
ye shall se me. For I live, 
and ye shall live. ^° That daye 
shall ye knowe that I am in my 
father, and you in me, and I 
in you. 

^^ He that hath my com- 



VERSIONS OF THE BIBLE. 



15 



GENEVA — 1557. 

but my Father that dwelleth in 
me, is he that doeth the workes. 
" Beleue me, that I am in my 
Father : and my Father in me : 
at the leest beleue me for the 
very workes sake. -^^ Verely 
ver6ly I say vnto you, he that 
beleueth on me, the workes that 
I do, the same shal he do also, 
and greater workes than these 
shal he do : for I go vnto my 
Father. ^^ And what soeuer ye 
aske in my name, that wil I do : 
that the Father may be glori- 
fied in the Sonne. -^^ If ye shal 
aske any thyng in my name, I 
wil do it. 

^^ If ye loue me, kepe my com- 
mandementes. ^^ And I wil 
pray the Father, and be shal 
geue you another ComforteY*, 
that he may byde with you for 
euer. •^'^ Euen the Sprite of 
truth, whom the worlde can not 
receaue, because the world seeth 
hym not, nether knoweth him : 
but ye knowe hym : for he 
dwelleth with you, and shalbe 
in you. -^^ I will not leaue you 
confortlesse : but wyl come to 
you. ^^ Yet a lytle whyle, and 
the world seeth me no more, 
but ye shal se me : for I lyue, 
and ye shal lyue. ^° That day 
shal ye knowe that I am in my 
Father, and you in me, and I 
in you. 

^^ He that hath my commande- 
mentes and kepeth them, the 
same is he that loueth me : and 



AUTHORIZED — 1611. 

but the Father that dwelleth 
in me, he doth the works. 
^^ Beleeue me that I am in the 
Father, and the Father in mee : 
or else beleeue me for the very 
works sake. 

•^"^ Uerely, verely I say vnto 
you, he that beleeueth on me, 
the works that I doe, shall bee 
doe also, and greater workes 
then these shall lae doe, because 
I goe vnto my Father. ^^ And 
whatsoeuer ye shall aske in my 
Name, that wil I doe, that the 
Father may be glorified in the 
Sonne. ■"•* If ye shall aske any 
thing in my Name, I will doe it. 

^^ If ye loue mee, keepe my 
commandements. ^^ And I will 
pray the Father, and bee shall 
giue you another Comforter, 
that he may abide with you for 
euer, ^"^ Euen the Spirit of 
trueth, whom the world cannot 
receiue, because it seeth him 
not, neither knoweth him : but 
yee know him, for hee dwelleth 
with you, and shall be in you. 

^^ I wil not leaue you com- 
fortlesse, I will come to you. 
^^ Yet a little while, and the 
world seeth me no more : but 
ye see me, because I Hue, ye 
shall liue also. ^° At that 
day ye shall know, that I am 
in my Father, and you in me, 
and I in you. '^^ He that hath 
my commandements, and keep- 
eth them, hee it is that loueth 



16 



REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



WYCLIFFE — 1380. 

kepith hem he it is that loueth 
me^ and he that loueth me i 
schal be loued of my fadir^ and 
I schal loue him, and I schal 
schewe to hym my silf, 

^^ iudas seith to hym : not he 
of scarioth, lord what is don i 
that thou schalt schewe thisilf 
to us, and not to the world ? 

^^ ihesus answerid and seide to 
hym, if ony man loueth me : he 
schal kepe my word, & my fadir 
schal loue hym, and we schuln 
come to hym and we schuln 
dwelle with hym, ^* he that 
loueth me not kepith not my 
wordis and the word whiche ^e 
han herde, is not myn : but the 
fadris that sente me, ^^ these 
thingis I haue spokun to jou 
dwellynge among :^ou, 

2® but thilke holi goost the 
counfortour whom the fadir 
schal sende in my name i he 
schal teche ^ou alle thingis and 
schal schewe 30U alle thingis 
what euer thingis I schal seie to 
30U, 

"^^ pees I leue to ^ou my pees I 
3eue to 30U, not as the world 
^eueth I ^eue to 30U, be not ^oure 
herte afraied S ne drede it, 

^^ yi, han herde that I seide 
to jou : I go and I come to ^ou, 
if :5e loueden me i forsothe ^e 
schulden haue ioie, for I go to 



TYNDALE — 1534 

maundementes and kepeth 
them, the same is he that loveth 
me. And he that loveth me, 
shal be loved of my father : and 
I will love him, and will shewe 
myne awne selfe vnto him. 
^^ Iudas sayde vnto him (not 
Iudas Iscarioth) Lorde what is 
the cause that thou wilt shewe 
thy selfe vnto vs, and not vnto 
the worlde ? ^^ lesus answered 
and sayde vnto him : yf a man 
love me and wyll kepe my say- 
inges, my father also will love 
him, and we will come vnto 
him, and will dwelle with him. 
^* He that loveth me not, kepeth 
not my sayinges. And the 
wordes which ye heare, are 
not myne, but the fathers which 
sent me. 

^^ This have I spoken vnto you 
beynge yet present with you. 
^^ But that comforter which is 
the holy gost (whom my father 
will sende in my name) he 
shall teache you all thinges, 
and bringe all thinges to youre 
remembraunce whatsoever I 
have tolde you. ^'^ Peace I 
leve with you, my peace I geve 
vnto you. Not as the worlde 
geveth, geve I vnto you. Let 
not youre hertes be greved 
nether feare ye. -^Ye have 
hearde how I sayde vnto you : 
I go and come agayne vnto 
you. If ye loved me, ye wolde 
verely reioyce, because I sayde, 
I c;o vnto the father. ^" For 



VERSIONS OF THE BIBLE. 



17 



GKNEVA — 1557. 

he that loueth me, shalbe loued 
of my Father : and I wil loue 
him, and wil shcwe myne owne 
selfe to him manifestly. ^'- ludas 
sayd vnto him (not ludas Isear- 
iot) Lord what is the cause that 
thou wilt shewe thy self vnto 
vs, and not vnto the world ? 
-^ lesus answered, and sayd vnto 
him, Yf a man loue me, he wil 
kepe my sayinges : and my 
Father wil loue him, and we wil 
come vnto hym, and wil dwel 
with him. . ^* He that loueth 
me not, kepeth not my say- 
inges : and the wordes which 
ye heare, are not myne, but the 
Fathers which sent me. 

^ These haue I spoken vnto 
you, beyng yet present with 
you. ^® But that Comforter, 
which is the holy Gost, whom 
my Father wil send in my name, 
he shal teache you al thynges, 
and bring all thinges to your re- 
membrance, what so euer I 
haue told you. 

^'^ Peace I leue with you, my 
peace I geue vnto you : not as 
the world geueth, geue I vnto 
you : let not youre hartes be 
troubled, nether feare ye. ^^ Ye 
haue heard how I sayd vnto 
you, I go, and wil come vnto 
you. If ye loued me, ye wold 
verely reioyce, because I said, 
I go vnto my Father : for my 
Father is greater than I. ^^ And 
now haue I shewed you, before 
2 



AUTHORIZED — 1611. 

me : and he that loueth me 
shall be loued of my Father, 
and I wil loue him, and will 
manifest my selfe to him. ^^ lu- 
das saith vnto him, not Iscariot, 
Lord, how is it that thou wilt 
manifest thy selfe vnto vs, and 
not vnto the world ? ^^ lesus 
answered, and said vnto him, 
If a man loue me, he will keepe 
my wordes : and my Father 
will loue him, and wee will 
come vnto him, and make our 
abode with him. ^* He that 
loueth mee not, keepeth not 
my sayings, and the word which 
you heare, is not mine, but the 
Fathers which sent mee. 

^^ These things have I spoken 
vnto you, being yet present 
with you. ^^ But the Com- 
forter, which is the holy Ghost, 
whom the Father wil send in 
my Name, hee shall teach you 
all things and bring all things 
to your remembrance, whatso- 
euer I haue said vnto you. 
^'^ Peace I leaue with you, my 
peace I giue vnto you, not as 
the world giueth, giue I vnto 
you : let not your heart be 
troubled, neither let it be 
afraid. ^^ Yee haue heard how 
I said vnto you, I goe away, 
and come againe vnto you. It 
yee loued me, ye would reioyce, 
because I said, I goe vnto the 
Father : for my Father is great- 
er then I. ^^ And now I haue 



18 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

WYCLIFFE — 1380. TYNDALE — 1534. 

the fadir, for the fadir is greetter the father is greater then I. 

thanne I, ^^ and now I haue And now have I shewed you, 

seide to ^ou bifor that it be don ! before I come, that when it is 

that whanne it is don je bi- come to passe, ye might beleve. 
leuen, 

^'^ now I schal not speke many ^° Here after will I not talke 

thingis with ^ou, for the prince many wordes vnto you. For 

of this world cometh : and hath the rular of this worlde com- 

not in me ony thing. ^^ but that meth, and hath nought in me. 

the world knowe that I loue the ^^But that the worlde maye 

fadir, & as the fadir jaf a knowe that I love the father : 

comaundement to me : so I do, therfore as the father gave me 

rise je go we hennas. commaundment, even so do I. 

Ryse let vs go hence. 



NOTES ON THE VERSIONS. 

Verse 1. Be, 3 pers. sing. imp. aux. with affraied, having for subject herte. So 
let be troubled in authorized version is best regarded as in 3 pers. sing, imp., and 
also let us go, ver. 31, in 1st pers. plu. In this last case, the subject is in the objective 
case because following let, which was originally a notion-word and took an object 
after it. Be is from A.-S. bed n. The earliest traceable stem-form of the substantive 
verb, so called, is Sans, as; hence, 1 pers. sing, as mi; 2 pers. as i (as si) ; 3 pers. 
as ti. From this st«m, by adding pronominal affixes, we get our a in (as m),a rt (a st), 
is, Goth, is t. The plural are, which probably came into the English through the 
Danish, has the primitive « changed to r, and the pronominal affixes as well as the 
sibilant 5 in the primitive stem, are lost off. The primitive stem was strengthened 
by the intensive labials, b as in Eng. be ; w in was, A.-S. ives an to be ; forfu as in 
Lat./Mi; the digamma in Greek ; Wjm in Sans. The irregularities in the conjugation 
of this verb arise chiefly from the iotermingling of these intensified forms with the 
simple forms. — Not, A.-S. nahl, comp. of sign of negation n, § 5, and akt, aught, 
anything, the h a demonstrative pronominal element, § 4, the t a formative element, 
§42. See §48 (3), and cf. Mod. Greek Sev (oiiSeV), and Fr. ne-pas, ne-point. — 
5oure. For initial letter see § 25 (1) ; it represents pronominal element of 2 sing. 
§ 4 ; r formative, § 42 ; e inflectional, § 26. — Herte, heart. Cf. under Grimm's 
Law, § 35, Lat. cord is ; Gv. xapS t'a ; Germ, hertz. The stem letters are hrt, the 
vowel being unstable. Notice different spellings in the ditferent versions. The or in 
King James version is an orthographic expedient for showing the e to bo of long 
quantity, § 18 (1). The final e inflectional, § 26. — Affraied, afraid, made to fear ; 
A.-S. afaeran, to make afraid ; Norman Fr. affrayer. The stem /r is Teutonic, having 
/, where the Lat., as by Grimm's Law, has p as in pai'or. The Mod. Fr. has both 
Teutonic and Latin stems in different words, as frny-eur, and peur. The a/ for a or 
an is intensive, § 44 (2). The ai is also intensive of transitive class, § 41 (2, a). 
The d is formative, § 42 ; the e connective, § 38. — For punctuation see § 50. — Ne, 
nor. A.-S. and early Eng. used ne as both simple negative not, and also as conj. 
neither, nor. — Drcde, dread, 3 sing, imp., having for .subject it (= heart), from 
A.-S. draed an. The stem -consonants are d and ?■ as ia dare, c{. 6r. 9ap pelv and 



VERSIONS OF THE BIBLE. 19 

GENEVA — 1557. AUTHORIZED — 1611. 

it come : that wlien it is come told you before it come to passe, 

to passe, ye myght beleue. that when it is come to passe, 

^° Here after wyl I not talke ye might beleeue. ^'^ Hereafter 

many wordes vnto you : for the I will not talke much with you : 

prince of thys world commeth, for the prince of this world 

and hath noght in me. ^^ But commeth, and hath nothing in 

that the world may knowe that me. ^^ But that the world may 

I loue my Father : therfore as knowe that I loue the Father : 

the Father gaue me commande- and as the Father gaue mee 

ment, euen so do I. Eyse, let commandement, euen so I doe : 

vs go hence. Arise, let vs goe hence. 



TapaTTw. — It, A.-S. and Old Eng. hit ; see § 4. It is here subject of drede, and has 
as its antecedent herte. — Ye. See § 4. — Bileiien, believe, plu. of bileve, comp. of 
be, intensive, and A.-S. lefan and lyfnn, to permit. The A.-S. word for lielieve. was 
geUfan and gelyfan. See § 44 (2). Trace the orthography of this word in the differ- 
ent versions. The spelling with ie was introduced about the middle of the seven- 
teenth century. F in A.-S. took the sound of v between two vowels, and hence, 
wlien this character v was introduced, the sound was properly represented by it ; § 
19. — In, prep, common in Indo-European dialects, but not traceable to its origin. 

Ver. 2. The, definite article from dem. pron., ^7 ', th being dem. element, § 4, and 
e inflectional, § 26. — Hous, A.-S. Aijs. In monosyllabic nouns the A.-S. uha,s passed 
very generally into oj«, as ot.z«^/i became month; pund, pound; round, ivomid ; cu, 
cow. So adjectives fid, foul, but we have derivative /M?5ome ; sund, sound ; sur, sour . 
tire, our. So thu, thou; hu, how ; nu, now ; ut, oiit, etc. The rule is not universal, 
however. See § 26. — Fatlir, father. The change of rf to ZA in this word took 
place after Chaucer. See Grimm"s Law, § 35. — Ben, 3 plu. of be. Wycliffe forms 
the plural generally in n with or without connecting vowel according to euphony. — 
Many, A.-S. manig. The final guttural as usual was dropped. Cf. Ger. manch. 
— Dwellyngis, a participial noun from v. dwell, from Dan. dvaele, to linger, to 
tarry. Cf. abode from abide and Lat. mansio from maneo. For final is see §§ 42, 
88. — If, A.-S. gif, imp. of gifan, to give, § 6. — Ony, any ; A.-S. anig, aenig. See 
many a,hoYe. — Tiling, A.-S. thiiig, old Ger. dine. Mod. Ger. ding. Conjectural 
origin is th dem., § 4, and ng formative, § 42. — T..asse, less, A.-S. laessa, laes, 
compar. of lytel. — I, § 4. — Hadd.e, had, aux. v. past tense used for conditional 
(:= would have). A.-S. haefde from habban, to have. — Seid, said, told ; A.-S 
segde, and sae de, past tense of sec gan, seg gaii and sae gan, to say, to tell. — To. 
Cf. under Grimme's Law, § 85, Lat. ad, Ger. 2?f.. Too, A.-S. to, is the same word 
originally, but distiugui.ohed from the prep, by affix, § 43. Cf. of, off. Notice absence 
of apostrophes in fathers in the three later versions. — Wolde in Tyndale, u'ould, 
A.-S. wolde, past tense of will an, to will. The u in would is orthographic, § 18. 

Ver. 3. For, conj. from the prep. The classical form by Grimm's Law and 
transposition is pro. The rise of the conj. is from the use of the prep, to govern 
the clause as if a noun. — Go, A.-S. g-a, from gan, to go; allied to gin, begin. 



20 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

To make. The Eng. inf. originated in the A.-S. gerund, which, as a noun in 
character, was governed by prep. to. After verbs admitting not the direct but only 
the remote object, as here, the to is really a preposition governing the verb in the 
inf. After ash, as, I ask to go, the to is mere sign of the inf. " Art of Composi- 
tion," § 282, Obs. 1, 2. Malce is from A.-S. macian. Cf. 6er. mach en, Lat. 
fac io. — liedi, ready, A.-S. rad, raed, raeth, ready, quick From the compara- 
tive of this, radlior, comes our rather. — A, indef. art., contracted from A.-S. 
an, aen, one. — Place, Kr. place, Dan. plads. Cf. Ger. platz, Lat. platea, Gr. 
TrAttT v's, Eng. flat. — Ami, A.-S. and, ant. — Eftsone, forthwith, again, comp. of 
A.-S. e/i, or aeft, after, and sone, soon. — Come, A.-S. cum an. — ScJhal, shall, 
fut. aux., A.-S. sceal. — Take, A.-S. tacan. Cf. Gr. S^xo/j-ai. — Silf, A.-S. self, 
silf, sylf, saelf, seolf. Cf Ger. selh. — Tliat, §§ 4, 42. Cf. Ger. das. It is used here 
as clausal conj. to denote that the clause following is used as a noun, here depending 
on a prep, understood, as /or. "Art of Composition," § 328. — Wliere, A.-S- 
hwaer. In A.-S., as in Greek, the sign of aspiration was placed before the letter to 
be aspirated ; in Latin and English it is placed after. Cf pTJTtop, Lat. rhetor, Eng. 
rhetoric. See §§ 20 and 4. — Am. See be, ver. 1. —Be, potential, without aux. 
Cf. be glorified, ver. 13. — The spellings of receive in the three later versions are no- 
ticeable. The i is more recent ; but both a and i are orthographic merely, and not 
etymological, § 18. 

Ver. 4. Whidir, whither. See_/"arf)>, ver. 2. The ivh is interrogative or relative, 
§ 4 ; the d or th demonstrative ; the r formative, § 42. For i, see § 38. — Witen, 
know, plu. from A.-S. ivit an, to know. Cf. under Grimm's Law, § 35, Lat. rides, 
Ger. wisseti. It was sometimes spelled weet. The stem remains in to wit, and 
righteous {righi-wis). —^Wey, way, A.-S. weg. Cf. A.-S. weg an, to carry; Lat. 
via and veh ere. Notice spellings in different versions, also in ver. 5 of the Wycliffe 
version. 

Ver. 5. Tlioma.s. The use of initial capitals is exceedingly irregular in Wycliffe. 
More commonly, as here, proper names are without capitals. — SeitU. See seid, 
ver. 2. Til was the usual 3 sing, ending in Wycliffe's time. — Hym. The h is 
demonstrative, § 4 ; the m formative of object, case, § 42. The i and y were inter- 
changeable, as we find him in next verse. See § 23. — tord. Old Eng. laverd, 
loverd; A.-S. hlaford, comp. of Iilaf, bread, loaf, and wcard, keeper. — "We, § 4. — 
Goist. For stem see go, ver. 3 ; st formative of 2 sing., § 42 ; connective /, § 38. — 
Hon, how, A.-S. hu, § 4. — Moun, can, A.-S. mag on, plu. pres. of mag an, to 
be able ; past tense mighte, might, and nieahte, mought, which is now obsolete, ex- 
cept provincially. The n is plu. formative. The guttural being dropped, the vowel 
was lengthened and changed into ou. — "Wite, inf. object of vioun. Although this 
latter verb became the potential aiixiliary, it has its old meaning here, and i.s better 
regarded as a principal verb. — Weie. See n'ey, ver. 4. The inflectional e being 
retained, the y becomes i , according to rule, § 23. 

Ver. 6. Iliesus. For I, see § 22. The h seems to be used simply to indicate that 
the i is consonantized, § 14 — Trutlie, abstract noun from verb trow, A.-S. treow- 
ian, truw ian, tryiv ian, to accept as true, to believe, § 42. Notice spellings in the 
different versions. — Idif , hfe ; A.-S. lif, Ger. leben. The second i is orthogi-aphic, 
§ 18. — No, abbreviated from none, A.-S. nan (ne and an, one). — Man, A.-S. vian 
and nion. — Cometli. Th is formative of 3 sing. Commeth in Tyndale is from rule 
for indicating short quantity, § 18 (2). — But, A.-S. butan, bate, comp. of prep, be 
and ut, out. 

Ver. 7. KnoAve, A.-S. cnaw an, allied to cim nan, to ken. Cf. Lat. nosco, no vi. 
The auxiliaries, being originally principal verbs, took the infinitive regularly after 
them as object. The meaning is : liad knowing of me, knowledge of me. The par- 
ticiple from had known should receive a slightly different explication. In this case 



VERSIONS OF THE BIBLE. 21 

the meaning is, had ine as known object. The infinitive form is retained in such bk- 
pressions as had better be, had as lief go, had rather do, and the like. Had is past 
tense used for potential. The supposition that liad comes from 'rf used colloquially 
for would, is untenable, for we find the expression in Chaucer when the dissyllable 
wolde was in regular use, before it was shortened to would; and to put the matter 
beyond all possible doubt, we find in Chaucer, C. T., ver. 11,885, the verb following 
hadde, with the sign of the infinitive to : — 

" I hadde wel lever ever to suffren wo 
Than to depart the love betwixt you two." 

There is no way of disposing of suffren here but to regard it as infinitive object 
of hadde. The same form of expression occurs frecLuently in Chaucer, showing 
that it was accepted as a settled form in the language. 

" And he had lever talken with a page." Ver. 11,004. 
" Yet had I lever speuden all the good." Ver. 16,844. 
" Yet had this brld, by twenty thousand fold, 
Lever in a forest that is wilde and cold , 
Gon eten wormes." Ver. 17,118-17,120. 

In the following, hadde is followed by a clausal noun as its object : — 

"I hadde lever than a barrel of ale. 
That goode lefe my wif had herde this tale." Ver. 13,899. 

This passage is confirmatory of the view presented that the infinilive was regarded 
by Chaucer as object of hadde, in the other quotations. Two centuries later, this 
form of expression was equally current : " I had rather be a doorkeeper." Ps. Ixxxiv. 
10 : "I had rather speak five words." 1 Cor. xiv. 19. " They had not had sin." 
John XV. 22. In Shakespeare, it is very common. " I had as lieve not be." J. C. 
i. 2. " Brutus had rather be a villager." Ibid. " I had rather coin my heart." Id. 
iv. 3. It would be a great loss to our language to let this form of expression go out 
of use. The theory that objects to it would, if consistently applied, drive out such 
expressions as " had I wings; " " Had it been otherwise ; " indeed, would discard 
the use everywhere of the imperfect tense to express the conditional mood, in op- 
position to the general tendency and usage of languages. — Sotlill, verily ; A.-S. 
sothlice, adv., and sothlic, adj., from soth, truth, and suffix lie, -ly, § 45, 111. Cf. 
Eng. forsooth (for truth). See ver. 28. — ALso, A.-S. alswa, comp. of al, all, and 
swa, so. — Aftirwarde, A.-S. aefte.rweard, and aeftenvearde, comp. of after, 
compar.of a/i:,(see eftsone, ver. 3), and iwearrf, towards. Cf. Lat. versus, fnotuvert ere ; 
Qer. warts. — Sclivilii, fut. aux. from A.-S. sculoii and sceal on, plu. pres. iudic. 
of sr.eal, I owe, I must. IShall being intransitive, cannot take an object like have ; 
hence it is followed always by the infinitive form. — Sholde in Geneva version is 
A.-S. sceolde, past tense of sceol. The u in should in Authorized version is ortho- 
graphic. — Han, 3 plu. pres. ind., contraction of haben. — Seen, A.-S. segun, past 
part, of seon, to see. 

Ver. 8. Filip. WyclilTe not unfrequently represents the Greek <^ by/". He is not 
uniform, however, in this. ^ — Sclie"we, show ; A.-S. sceawian. — Siifficitli, from 
Lat. sufficere, through French. Notice spellings in the different versions. 

Ver. 9. So, A.-S. stcffl. — Long, A.-S. Zo»g-, lang; Ger. long; Lat. long us. — 
Tyme, A.-S. tima, time; Lat. tetnpus. 

Ver. 10. yVoxdis, A.-S. word. Cf. Ger. wort; lint. ver bum. — Speke, A.-S. spec 
an and spaec an. The a in speak is orthographic. — Him with self must be regarded 
as uninflected. — Doitli, A.-S. don, to do. Cf. Ger. thun. — Werkis, wyrc and 
weorc. 

Ver. 11. Ellis, else; A.-S. eKes, gen. of stem aeZ ore/, other, foreign, § 42. Cf. Lat. 



22 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

alius. — Xliilke, the very, same ; A.-S. thylc and thillic, comp. of demonstrative tk 
or the and lie, lilte, same, § 45, 111. 

Ver. 12. Truly, A.-S. treow lie, from treow, true. — Gretter, greater; A.-S. 
great. Of. Ger. gross. For the second t and the a in great, see § 18. — Xlianne, 
than; A.-S. thanne, thone, thaenne. and thaen; an old ace. form like Lat. quam. 
Its proper force is, in respeet to this, greater in respect to these, that is, in compari- 
son with these. See n. P. P. 21. 

Ver. 13. Ever, A.-S. aefer and aefre. For change of y to v, see § 19. — Axen 
A.-S. aesian and ascian, to ask. — Be gloi-ified, subjunctive. Fr. glorifier ; Lat 
glorijieo. 

Ver. 15. l^o'ven, Pi-.-'&.lufian. See§19. — Keepe, A.-S.cepan. — Comaund 
emeiitis, Late Lat. coniandmiientum. 

Ver. 16. Preie, Old Fr. preier, Lat. precari, to pray ; the i or y mpray is ortho- 
graphic. — ■Jeve, give, A.-S. gifan and geojian, past tense gaef and gaf. Cf. Ger. 
geben. They, being phthongal between vowels, became v, as in ever, love, give, w. 
13, 15. See § 19. — Another, A.-S. an and oc/her. — Coioif ortour, Fr. eonforter. 
to comfort, Lat. confortare , from con and fortis. The u is orthographic, § 18. — 
Spirit, Lat. spiritus. — "Withouten, A.-S. loidhutan, comp. of widh and utan 
from ut, out. — Elide, A.-S. ende. 

Ver. 17. "Wliicli, A.-S. hwilc, compounded of the interrogative or relative, § 4 
and ilc for lie, as ihilke, ver. 11 above. — ^World, A.-S. iveorold, iworoW, and ivorld, 
— May not, is not able. See ?noun, ver. 5. — Netlier , A.-S. nadhor, nadher, and 
nawdher, comp. of n and odher. The i in Mod. Eng. neither is orthographic, and 
introduced after Wycliffe, who always writes ether, nether, except rarely neather. 
To sound the i is to mistake the origin and design of the letter. 

Ver. 18. liBve, leave ; A.-S. laefan and ie/an. Cf. Ger. bleibenlfie and leiben); 
Gr. XeiiTia. — Fadirles, fadir and privative suffix, A. -S. leas. 

Ver. 19. ^i^i J'^t > A.-S.g-eJ, git, and iet, iette. — Litil, A.-S. lytel, lyt. — New, 
A.-S. raw; Ger. ?i!Hi ; Qv.vvv; Lat.»iM;ic. — Lyve, A.-S. Ziia», /i6i tan, and Zeq/'i(m. 
Ger. leben. 

Ver. 20. Day, A.-S. daeg, Ger. tag, Lat. rfi'es. 

Ver. 22. Scariotli. Wycliffe frequently, but not invariably, observes Grimm's 
Law in rendering Greek proper names. The initial J easily falls away before S. 

Ver. 23. Aus^verid, A.-S. andsivarian and andsiverian, to answer, comp. of 
and, against, and swerian, to swear. 

Ver. 24. Herde, A.-S. her an. The a in heard is orthographic, § 18. 

Ver. 25. Among, A.-S. aniang and oninong, comp. of prep. a« or a, and the 
stem mang, which appears in A.-S. tneng ian, to mix. Cf. Ger. meng en ; ia mati ig, 
many ; Eng. miiigle, etc. 

Ver. 26. Holi, A.-S. halig, from hal, safe ; Ger. heil ig. — Goost, A.-S. gast ; Ger. 
geist. The secondo is orthographic, § 18. For the h in ghost, see § 21 (1). — Sende, 
A.-S. sendan. — Name, A.-S. nama, Ger. name, Lat. no7nen. — Teche, A.-S. 
taec an, Ger. zeig en, Lat. doc ere. — Alle, A.-S. eal, call, al, ael. 

Ver. 27. Pees, peace ; Old Fr. pais, pes ; Lat. pax, pac is. — As, probably a con- 
fraction of all and so, or all and demonstrative 5. Cf. A.-S. eall-swa ; Ger. als ; Fr. 
aussi; Dan. ogsaa. — Be not youre herte afraied; ne drede it. See ver. 1. 
Afraied has here but oney"; ia ver. 1 there are two. 

Ver. 28. Torsotlie. See ver. 7, on sothli. — Ioie,joy; Old Fr. g-oie, yoj'e ; Lat. 
gaudimn. 

Ver. 29. Bif or, before. Comp. of A.-S. bi or be, and/or, before. — Tliat it be 
don, clausal noun after prep, bifor. "Art of Composition," §§ 290 \Z), 322.— 
Bileueii, subj. mood. Cf. ye be, ver. 3. 

Ver. 30. Prince, Fr. prince, Lat. princeps. 



LANGUAGE IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 23 

Ver. 31. Jaf, gave, A.-S. gifan, to give ; past tense gafa,nd. gaef. See geve, ver. 16. 
— Rise, A.-S. risan. — Hennes, hence. The stem is demonstrative, § 4 ; s ia 
formative of possessive, § 42. 



STATE OF THE LANGUAGE IN THE LATTER PART OF THE 
FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 

1. The orthography was unsettled. The governing prin- 
ciple was to represent as near as was practicable through 
the alphabetic characters in use the sounds of the words 
according to the received pronunciation. In a poem " On 
the Death of Edward III.," in 1377, as given by Mr. Marsh, 
E. L. L., p. 288-300, the past participle of to see, now 
spelled see?t, occurs in the last verse of each of eleven of 
the different stanzas, fourteen in all. It is written three 
times isei-^e ; once seye; six times se^e ; and once iseye. 
So in Piers Ploughman, Mandeville, Wycliffe, and Chaucer, 
the same word is spelled diversely by the same writer. The 
vowels were often interchanged, especially before r and 
when used as connectives in inflection or derivation. The 
characters i and j were not discriminated, nor u and v. 
Long quantity when necessary, was generally indicated by 
the insertion of a vowel or by a final e, but not uniformly. 
The practice of marking short quantity by doubling the 
following consonant, universal in the " Ormulum," a work 
of the thirteenth century, was but partially observed. A 
character now represented by a ^ from another font of type 
was used to represent y initial and also the phthongal and 
aphthongal gutturals, g and gh. 

The inflectional character of the language had become 
very nearly what it is now. The inflections were, however, 
somewhat unsettled. Higden, writing about 1350, says 
there were then three dialects spoken in England, the 
Southern, Midland, and Northern, or West Saxon, Mercian, 
and Northumbrian. lie exemplifies them thus in indie, 
pres. of the verb hope : — 

Southern, sing, hope, hopest, hopeth ; plu. hopeth. 



24 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Midland, sing, hope, hopes, hopes ; plu. hopeii. 

Northern, sing, hope, hopes, hopes ; plu. hopes. 

Piers Ploughman, WyclifFe, Mandeville, and Chaucer, all 
followed the southern usage, in the singular. In the plural 
Chaucer used both th and n or en ; in the imperative, usu- 
ally th, but often omitted all plural terminations. Piers 
Ploughman has infinitive with n or en more commonly, but 
sometimes without. WyclifFe and Chaucer usually omit the 
n after the auxiliary have ; being transitive when used as 
principal word, the infinitive was sometimes used where 
now we use the participle, as hadde rise for hadde risen. 
For the contingent or optative mood, the past tense of 
the indicative was commonly employed. In the participle 
of irregular verbs, WyclifFe uses u, as hiowun, while Chau- 
cer prefers e, as hiowen. The adjective sometimes had a 
plural in e, the remains of the old Anglo-Saxon inflection. 
The genitive singular and the plural of nouns were in s, 
with or without a connecting word as euphony required, 
but without the apostrophe. The first person pronoun was 
often written ich in Piers Ploughman. The h was worn off 
from the third person neuter, hit, although hit occurs in 
Piers Ploughman ; but the old possessive his was used for 
both masculine and neuter, its having been introduced in 
the seventeenth centui-y. The h in the third person pliu'al 
had not passed into th. We find accordingly her and hern 
for their and them, but they or thei was already in use. Ye 
and you were used by Chaucer in addresses to individuals. 

There is noticeable a tendency to form new words by 
uniting fragments of words in use so as to disguise the ety- 
mology, while following probably the common colloquial 
pronunciation, as in artou, art thou ; seestou, seest thou, etc., 
in Piers Ploughman ; sumdel, some deal : iqysodoun, up side 
down, in Chaucer and Wycliffe. The compounding of 
words generally was more freely allowed than now. Thus 
we find agen, Lat. re, both in the sense of again and of 
against, in composition with many simple verbs in Wycliflfe, 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 25 

as agenlie, redeem ; agenrise, rise again ; agenstande, resist ; 
etc. 

2. THE VISION OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 

This remarkable poem may, with good reason, be placed at the very origin of 
proper English literature. For while the transition from the Old Saxon to what has 
been termed the Semi-Saxon stage of the language was gradual and by impercepti- 
ble stages, the change appears more decisive and complete to the proper English 
stage in this poem, than in any other monument of our literature. It is every way 
worthj' to stand at the head of the richest form of literature the world has seen. 

The poem is attributed to a monk of the name of Langland — a name variously 
spelled Longland, Longlande, Langlande, Langland, etc. Tradition gives him the 
Christian name of Robert ; but an entry made in the fifteenth century on an old 
manuscript copy in the library of Trinity College, Dublin, says his first name was 
AVilliam. He was born, according to tradition, at Cleobury-Mortimer in Shropshire, 
was educated at Oxford, and became a monk at Malvern, a town in Worcestershire, 
on the eastern declivity of the Malvern Kills. The entry above alluded to, however, 
states that he dwelt at Shipton-under-Wickwood, in the county of Oxford. lie lived 
in the fourteenth century ; and from some intei'nal evidences is supposed to have 
written his poem in the latter part of the year 1362. He was accordingly a contem- 
porary of Wyclilfe, 1324-13S4, who is mentioned by name in the " Creed of Piers 
Ploughman," probably written a few years after the " Vision," as a victim of priestly 
persecution : " Wychf that warned hem with trewthe," ver. 10,512. He doubtless par- 
ticipated fully in the risiug spirit of freedom, both religious and civil, which char- 
acterized that age. His poem, indeed, is essentially a bold and vigorous satire upon 
the impiety, the superstition, and the immoralities of the times. The succession of 
heavy calamities that had swept over England was regarded as but the visitation of 
Divine justice, working in harmony with natural laws, or more correctly through 
these laws, upon the sins of the people. 

The production was received with great favor among a people suffering under the 
power of oppressive superiors in state and in church, and beginning to clamor for 
relief and reform. 

" The poem of ' Piers Ploughman,' " says Mr. Wright, from whose excellent edition 
these general statements, as well as the selections from the text and many of the 
verbal explanations are takeu, " is peculiarly a national work. It is the most re- 
markable monument of the public spirit of our forefathers in the Middle, or, as they 
are often termed. Dark Ages. It is a pure specimen of the Enghsh language at a 
period when it had sustained few of the corruptions which have disfigured it since 
we have had writers of ' Grammars ' ; and in it we may study with advantage many 
of the difficulties of the language which these writers have misunderstood. It is, 
moreover, the finest example left of the kind of versification which was purely Eng- 
Ush, inasmuch as it had been the only one in use among our Anglo-Saxon progeni- 
tors, in common with the other people of the North. To many readers it will be 
perhaps necessary to explain that rhyming verse was not in use among the Anglo- 
Saxons. In place of rhyme, they had a .system of verse of which the characteristic 
was a very regular alliteration, so arranged that, in every couplet, there should be 
two principal words in the first line beginning with the same letter, which letter 
must also be the initial of the first word on which the stress of the voice falls in the 
second line. There has, as yet, been discovered no system of foot-measure in Anglo- 
Saxon verse, but the couunon metre consists apparently in having two rises and two 
falls of the voice in each line. These characteristics are accurately preserved in the 



26 



REPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



verse of " Piers Ploughman ; " and the measure appears to be the same, if we make 
allowance for the change of the slow and impressive pronunciation of the Anglo- 
Saxon for the quicker pronunciation of Middle English , which therefore required a 
greater number of syllables to fill up the same space of time." 

The poem, as it respects the form of the thought, is a succession of dreams. 
" The dreamer, weary of the world, falls asleep beside a stream amid the beautiful 
scenery of Malvern Hills. In his vision, the people of the world are represented to 
him by a vast multitude assembled in a fair meadow ; on one side stands the tower 
of Truth elevated on a mountain, the right aim of man's pilgrimage, while on the 
other side is the dungeon of Care, the dwelling-place of Wrong. In the first sec- 
tions, passus, of the poem, are pictured the origin of society, the foundation and 
dignity of kingly power, and the separation into different classes and orders." In 
the progress of the poem the different forms of evil with the opposing virtuous or 
corrective principles are represented as they appeared to the poet's eye on the stage 
of life. Conscience is at the close represented as forced to abandon the castle of 
Unity, in which it had taken shelter with Nature personified under the name of Kind, 
and sets out ou another pilgrimage in search of Piers the Ploughman. The dream 
here closes. 

The selection is from the Introduction as far as to the end of the famous fable of 
the Belling of the Cat. 



THE VISION OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 



In a somer sesoii 

Whan softe was the sonne, 

I shoop me into shroudes 

As I a sheep weere, 

In habite as an heremite 

Unholy of werkes, 

Wente wide in this world 

Wondres to here ; 

Ac on a May morwenj^nge 

On Malverne hilles ^" 

Me bifel a ferly, 

Of fairye me thoghte. 

I was wery for-wandred, 

And wente me to reste 

Under a brood bank 

By. a bournes syde ; 

And as I lay and lenede, 

And loked on the watres, 

I slombrcd into a slepyng, 

It sweyed so murye. ^^ 

Thanne gan I meten 
A merveillous swevcne, 
That I was in a wildernesse, 



Wiste I nevere where, ^* 

And as I biheeld into the eest 
An heigh to the sonne, 
I seigh a tour on a toft 
Trieliche y-maked, 
A deep dale bynethe, 
A dongeon therinne, 
With depe diches and derke 
And dredfulle of sighte. ^^ 

A fair feeld ful of folk 
Fond I ther bitwene. 
Of alle manere of men, 
The meene and the riche, 
Werchynge and wandrynge, 
As the world asketb. 

Some putten hem to the 
plough, 
Plelden ful selde, *" 

In settynge and sowynge 
Swonken ful harde. 
And wonnen that wastours 
With glotonye destruyeth. ^ 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 



27 



And somme putten hem to 
pride, ^^ 

Apparailed hem therafter, 
In contenaunce of clothynge 
Comen degised. 

In preires and penaunces 
Putten hem manye, 
Al for the love of oure Lord 
Lyveden ful streyte, 
In hope to have after 
Hevene riche blisse ; 
As ancres and heremites ^^ 

That holden hem in hire selles, 
And coveiten noght in contree 
To carien aboute, 
For no likerous liflode 
Hire likame to plese. 

And somme chosen chaffare ; 
Thei cheveden the bettre, 
As it semeth to our sight 
That swiche men thryveth. 

And somme murthes to make, 
As mynstralles konne, ^® 

And geten gold with hire glee, 
Giltles, I leeve. 

Ac japeres and jangeleres, 
Judas children, 
Feynen hem fantasies, 
And fooles hem maketh, 
And han hire wit at wille 
To werken, if thei wolde. 
That Poul precheth of hem "^^ 
I wol nat preve it here ; 
But Qui loquitur turpiloquium 
Is Luciferes hyne. 

Bidderes and beggeres 
Faste aboute yede. 
With hire belies and hire 

bagges 
Of breed ful y-crammed ; 
Faiteden for hire foode, ^^ 



Foughten at the ale. ^ 

In glotonye, God woot, 

Go thei to bedde, 

And risen with ribaudie, 

Tho Roberdes knaves ; 

Sleep and sory sleuthe 

Seweth hem evere. 

Pilgrymes and palmeres 
Plighten hem togidere. 
For to seken seint Jame, 
And seintes at Rome. ^^ 

They wenten forth in hire wey, 
With many wise tales, 
And hadden leve to lyen 
Al hire lif after. 
^^ I seigh somme that seiden 
Thei hadde y-sought seintes ; 
To ech a tale that thei tolde 
Hire tonge was tempred to lye, 
Moore than to seye sooth, 
It semed bi hire speche. ^^'^ 

Heremytes on an heep 
With hoked staves 
Wenten to Walsyngham, 
And hire wenches after, 
Grete lobies and longe 
That lothe were to swynke ; 
Clothed hem in copes. 
To ben knowen from othere ; 
And shopen hem heremytes, 
Hire ese to have. ^^^ 

I fond there freres, 
Alle the foure ordres, 
Prechynge the peple 
For profit of hemselve ; 
Glosed the gospel, 
As hem good liked ; 
For coveitise of copes, 
Construwed it as thei wolde 
Many of thise maistre freres 
Now clothen hem at likyng, ^^* 



28 



KEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



For hire moneie and hire mar- 
chaundlze -"^^^ 

Marchen togideres. 
For sith charite hath been chap- 
man, 
And chief to shryve lordes, 
Manye ferlies han fallen 
In a few yeres ; 
But holy chirche and hii 
Hold bettre togidres, 
The mooste meschief on molde 
Is moLintynge wel faste. ^^'^ 

Ther preched a pardoner, 
As he a preest were ; 
Broughte forth a buUe 
With many bisshopes seles, 
And seide that hymself myghte 
Assolllen hem alle, 
Of falshede, of fastynge, 
Of avowes y-broken. 

Lewed men leved it wel. 
And liked hise wordes ; 
Comen up knelynge ^'^^ 

To kissen hise buUes. 
He bouched hem with his 

brevet. 
And blered hire eighen, 
And raughte with his ragemau 
Eynges and broches. 

Thus thei gyven hire gold 
Glotons to kepe. 
And leveth in swiche losels 
As leccherie haunten. ^^'^ 

AVere the bissliope y-blessed. 
And worth bothe hise eris, 
His seel sholde noght be sent 
To deceyve the peple. 
Ac it is noght by the bisshope 
That the boy precheth ; 
For the parisshe preest and the 
pardoner ^^^ 



Parten the silver, ^^^ 

That the poraille of the parisshe 
Sholde have, if thei ne were. 

Pareojis and parisshe preestes 
Pleyned hem to the bisshope, 
That hire parisshes weren 

povere 
Sith the pestilence tyme. 
To have a licence and leve 
At London to dwelle, ^''° 

And syngen ther for symonie ; 
For silver is swete. 

Bisshopes and bachelers, 
Bothe maistres and doctours, 
That han cure under Crist, 
And croAvnynge in tokene 
And signe that thei sholden 
Shryven hire parisshens, 
Prechen and praye for hem, 
And the povere fede, ^^^ 

Liggen at Londone 
In Lenten and ellis. 

Somme serven the kyng, 
And his silver tellen 
In cheker and in chauncelrie, 
Chalangen hise dettes 
Of wardes and of wardemotes, 
Weyves and streyves. 

And somme serven as scr- 
vauntz 
Lordes and ladies, -^'-"^ 

And in stede of stywardes 
Sitten and demen ; 
Hire messe and hire matyns 
And many of hire houres 
Arn doon un-dcvoutliche ; 
Drede is at the laste, 
Lest Crist in consistorie 
A-corse ful manye. 

I perceyved of the power 
That Peter hadde to kepe, 200 



PIERS PLOUGPIMAN, 



29 



To bynden and unbynden, -°-^ 
As the book telletli ; 
How he it lefte with love, 
As oure Lord highte, 
Amonges foure vertues, 
The beste of aUe vertues, 
Tliat cardinals ben called, 
And closynge yates. . 
There is Crist in his kingdom 
To close and to shette, 
And to opene it to hem, ^■'•^ 
And heveue blisse shewe. 

Ac of the cardinals at court 
That kaughte of that name, 
And power presumed in hem 
A pope to make, 
To han that power that Peter 

hadde, 
Irapugnen I nelle ; 
For in love and in lettrure 
The election bilongeth, ^^"^ 

For-thi I kan and kan nauglit 
Of court speke moore. 

Thanne kam ther a kyng, 
Knyghthod hym ladde. 
Might of the communes 
Made hym to regne. 

And thanne cam kynde wit, 
And clerkes he made, 
For to counseillen the kyng. 
And the commune save. ^^^ 

The kyng and knyghthod. 
And clergie bothe, 
Casten that the commune 
Sholde hemself fynde. 

The commune contreved 
Of kynde wit craftes. 
And for jDrofit of al the peple 
Plowmen ordeyned, 
To tilie and to travaille, 
As trewe lif asketh. ^^^ 



The kyng and the commune, 
And kynde wit the thridde, ^*^ 
Shopen lawe and leaute, 
Ech man to knowe his owene. 

Thanne looked up a lunatik, 
A leene thyng with-alle, 
And, knelynge to the kyng, 
Clergially he seide : 

" Crist kepe thee, sire kyng ! 
And thi kyng-ryche, ^^"^ 

And lene thee lede thi lond. 
So leaute thee lovye. 
And for thi rightful rulyng 
Be rewarded in hevene." 

And sithen in the' eyr an 
heigh 
An aungel of hevene 
Lowed to speke in Latyn, 
For lewed men ne koude 
Jangle ne jugge. 
That justifie hem sholde, ^''^ 
But duffren and serven ; 
For-thi seide the aungel : 
Sum 7'ex, sum princeps, 
Neutrum fortasse deinceps ; 
qui jura regis, 
Christi specialia regis. 
Hoc quod agas melius, 
Justus es, esto jnus. 
Nudum jus a te 
Vestiri vuU pietate ; ^^ 

Qualia vis metere, 
Talia grana sere. 
Si jus nudatur, 
Nudo de jure meiatur; 
Si seritur pietas, 
De pietate metas. 

Thanne greved hym a go- 
liai'deis, 
A gloton of wordes. 
And to the aunarel an heigh ^'^^ 



30 



REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



Answerde after : . ^^^ 

Duyn rex a regere 
Dicatur nomen habere ; 
Nomen habet sine re, 
Nisi studct jura tenere. 

Thanne gan al the commune 
Crye in vers of Latyn, 
To the kynges counseil ; 
Construe who so wolde : 
Proicepta regis 
Sunt nobis vincula legis. ^^'^ 

With that ran ther a route 
Of ratons at ones, 
And smale mees m3'd hem 
Mo than a thousand, 
And comen to a counseil 
For the commune profit ; 
For a cat of a contree 
Cam whan hym liked. 
And overleep hem lightliche. 
And laughte hem at his wille, 
And pleide with hem perill- 

OUsli, 301 

And possed aboute. 

" For doute of diverse dredes, 

We dar noght wel loke ; 

And if we grucche of liisgamen, 

He wol greven us alle, 

Cracchen us or clawen us. 

And In hise douches holde. 

That us lotheth the lif 

Er he late us passe. °^" 

Mighte we with any wit 

His wille withstonde. 

We mighte be lordes o-lofte, 

And lyven at oure ese." 

A raton of renoun, 
Moost renable of tonge, 
Seide for a sovereyn ^^^ 

Help to hyraselve : [quod he 

" I have y-seyen segges," 



"In the cite of Londone, ^'^^ 
Beren beighes ful brighte 
Abouten hire nekkes, 
And somme colers of crafty 

werk ; 
Uncoupled thei wenten 
Bothe in wareyne and.inwaast 
Where heqiself liked. 
And outher while thei am ellis- 

where, 
As I here telle ; [beighe, 

AVere ther a belle on hire 
By Jhesu, as me thynketh, ^^^ 
Men myghte witen wher thei 

wente, 
And awey renne ! " 

" And right so," quod that 
raton, 
" Reson me sheweth. 
To bugge a belle of bras, 
Or of bright silver. 
And knytten it on a coler 
For oure commune profit, 
Wher he ryt or rest. 
Or renneth to pleye ; ^^'^ 

And if hym list for to laike, 
Thanne loke we mowen. 
And peeren in his presence 
The while him pleye liketh : 
And, if hym wratheth, be war, 
And his way shonye." 

Al this route of ratons 
To this reson thei assented. 
Ac tho the belle was y-brought, 
And on the beighe hanged, ^^'^ 
Ther ne was raton in al tho 

route. 
For al the reaume of Fraunce, 
That dorste have bounden the 

belle 
About the cattes nekke, ^^ 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 



31 



Ne liangen it about the cattes 

hals, ^^5 

Al Engelond to wynne. 
AUe helden hem un-hanly, 
And hir counseil feble ; 
And leten hire h\bour lost 
And al hire longe studie. 

A mous that muche good 
Kouthe, as me thoughte, 
Strook forth sternely, 
And stood bifore hem alle, 
And to the route of ratons ^®^ 
Reherced thise wordes : 

" Though we killen the cat, 
Yet sholde ther come another 
To cacchen us and al oure 

kynde, 
Though we cropen under 

benches. 
For-thI I counseille al the 

commune 
To late the cat worthe ; 
And be we nevere bolde 
The belle hym to shewe ; 
For I herde my sire seyn, ^^ 
Is seven yeer y-passed, 
Ther the cat is a kitone 
The court is ful elenge ; 
That witnesseth holy writ, 
Who so wole it rede : 
Vce terrce uhi puer rex est ! etc. 
For may no renk ther reste have 
For ratons by nyghte ; ®^^ 

The while he caccheth co- 

nyngnes, [oyne, 

He coveiteth noght your ear- 



But fedeth hym al with veny- 

son : ^^® 

Defame we hym nevere. 
For better is a litel los 
Than a long sorwe, 
The maze among us alle, 
Theigh we mysse a sherewe ; 
For many mennes malt 
We mees wolde destruye, 
And also ye route of ratons 
Rende mennes clothes, ^^'^ 

Nere the cat of that court 
That can yow over-lepe ; 
For hadde ye rattes youre wille, 
Ye kouthe noght rule yow 

selve." [mous, 

" I seye for me," quod the 
" I se so muchel after, 
Shal nevei-e the cat ne the kiton 
By my counseil be greved, 
Thorugh carpynge of this coler 
That cos ted me nevere ^"^ 

And though it hadde costned 

me catel, 
Bi-knowen it I nolde 
But sufFren, as hymself wolde. 
To doon as hym liketh. 
Coupled and uncoupled 
To cacche what thei mowe. 
For-thi ech a wis wight I 

warne, 
Wite wel his owene." 

What this metels by-meneth, 
Ye men that ben murye 
Devyne ye, for I ne dar, 
By deere God in hevene. ■*" 



NOTES ON TUK SELECTION FROM PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 

1. SoHier, A.-S. swjwfr, Dan. sommer^ from the same root, probably, as .saw, 
together ; spelled- somer by Wyclirfe, so?nmer, F. Q. I. i. 7. ; sonuner and somer by 
Gower. The second ni indicates short sound of o or u, § 18 (2), and is not pro- 
nounced. — Sesoii, season. Fr. saison. The French ai had the sound of the A.-S. e 



32 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

very nearly. The a in season and the y in sf.yson, as the word is spelled by Mande- 
ville, are orthographic, § 18 (1). 

2. Wliaii, A.-S. hwan, hwaene, an old ace. form of the relative pronoun. See 
n. on thanne,ver. 21. The /i simply indicates that the rw is aphthongal, § 20 (1). 
— Softe, soft. Theflnale is A.-S. inflection, nom. fem. sing, in the definite de- 
clension.- — Sonne, sun, A.-S. sunne, which, as in Arabic and some Teutonic 
languages, was feminine. The v, was early changed to o ,- afterwards it was restored 
and the terminal ne. dropped. 

3. Slioop, A.-S. sceop, past tense of scap an or sceapan, to shape, form, 
make. A.-S. sc has generally passed into sh, § 20 (3). The second o is orthogr.aphic, 
§18(1). Shroiides, A.-S. scrudas, clothes. The A.-S. plural in as was first 
changed into es ; then the connecting vowel was dropped. The word exemplifies the 
narrowing process often occurring in the use of words, § 47 (1). 

4. Sheep, shepherd. Another text reads, " As y shepherde were." A.-S. M<=p, 
sceap, sceop, scaep,sb.Q6)). — Wecre, A.-S. TOaere, were, subjunctive past of A.-S. 
bed, be. See Versions, 1. The second e in weere is orthographic, § 18 (1). 

5. Halbite, Fr. habit, Lat. habitus. The final e woold indicate the long quantity 
of the i. — .An, A.-S. aen, one. As a numeral, and also as an indefinite pronoun, as 
" such a o?ie," " owe knows," the spelling is owe. As the indefinite article, it was 
formerly spelled an in all cases. The n has been gradually dropped, till now the 
article is pronounced, and should be written, a, except before vowels, where the n 
is retained, to prevent the hiatus from the concourse of two vowels. The one ex- 
ception to this rule is by vu'tue of the same principle — euphony, that the w be 
retained before the aphthougal vowel h when not under accent. Thus we say and 
write "an horizon;" but " a horizontal." — Heremite, hermit. From Gr., 
whence Lat. e?-emita, Fr. erniite, hermite. 

6. "Wei'kes, works ; A.-S. were as and weorc as. 

7. 'Wente, A.-S. weyit. The inflectional e, which, as common in irregular verbs 
had been dropped in A.-S., came to be restored. Cf. habite, above. 

8. "Wondres, A.-S. iviindr as, wonders, plu. of wundr ; also written lounder, 
wonder and wondor. — Here, A.-S. her an, to hear ; the a in which is orthographic, 
§ 18 (1), as is the e in here, § 2G. 

9. Morwenynge , A.-S. inorg en, morg yn, viorgh en, merg en and tnorn. The 
w is probably from the gh in one of the A.-S. forms of the word. Wycliffe, moreive, 
in the sense of morning. Chaucer has inorwening and morwe. 

10. The Malvern Hills separate Worcestershire from Herefordshire and Mon- 
mouthshire, in England. They run north and.south for nearly nine miles. — Hilles, 
hills, from A.-S. hill. 

11. Me, A.-S. dat. and ace. 1 pers sing. pron. See § 4. Here it is remote object 
of hifel. — Bifel, befell, A.-S. befeoll or befeol, past tense of he-feallan, comp. of be 
or bi, and feall an, to fall. — Ferly, a wonder, a surprising thing ; A.-S.fearlich, 
sudden. 

12. Fairye, old ¥r. faerie, illusion. — Me, remote object of thoghte. — Tlioglite, 
A.-S. thithte, past tense of thine an, to seem. A.-S. methincth, means thus, it 
seems to me. Hence our methinks, inethought. 

13. "Wery, wearily. A.-S. loerig, weary. — For'wandrecl, from A.-S. for, 
forth, and ivandrian, to wonder. 

14. Me, object of reste. — Keste, A.-S. rest an. For final e see n. ver. 7. 

15. Brood, A.-S. brad, broad. The second o in brood, unA the a in broad, are 
orthographic, § 18 (1). 

16. Bournes, gen. sing, from A.-S. biirne, a brook. The word is retained in 
Scotch, as Bannock-burn. — Syde, A.-S. side. 

17. I/Cncde, leaned; A.-S. hlinian, past tense htinode. The A.-S. initial 
element was an aphthongal I, § 1.5. 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 33 

18. Lioltecl, looked ; A.-S. locian,loc ode. The second o in too/fc is orthographic, 
§ 18 (1). — Watres, A.-S. ivaeier, plu. waeteru ,waetni,. 

19. Slombred, A.-S. slumer ian, slimier ode. In regard to change of Towels 
and u, of. somer, ver. 1, so7tne, ver. 2. The b is euphonic affix, § 38. Cf. number, 
Lat. numerus ; cucumber, Lat. cucumis. 

20. Sweyed, A.-S. ^lueg- de, sounded. — Miirye, merry; A.-S. initrig,myrig, 
and mirig. Also murye. 

21. Tliaiine, A.-S. thanne, also thonne, thaenne, thaen, than, then. This ad- 
verb was originally the regular accusative of the demonstrative adjective pronoun, 
which was used also as the definite article. It may be supposed to be governed by 
some preposition understood, as A.-S. ymbe, about, concerning, with respect to. 
The accusative inflection was frequently used when a word which was primitively 
an adjective or noun became an adverb or a conjunction. The same is common in 
Greek and Latin. In the case of adverbs, the relation implied in the case-form is 
outward, objective ; in the case of conjunctions, it is one of thought only, internal, 
subjective. Thanne, then, as also hwaene, when, like Lat. turn, quum, properly ex- 
pressed the relation of the accusative — during, through, Lat. per. Thanne, used as 
a comparative conjunction, Uke Lat. quam, expresses a relation of thought only. 
Thus, the sentence, " John is taller than James," is to be interpreted : John is com- 
paratively tall (= taller), when we look to James as a standard of comparison. The 
Greek genitive of comparison is to be explained in the same way, only we have now 
the reversed direction of thought ; — we look Jrom the standard of comparison, not 
to, and use accordingly the whence case, the genitive in Greek, the ablative in Latin, 
not the ivhither case, the accusative. As, virtus prxstanlior est robore is to be inter- 
preted : virtue is relatively better, looking from, to judge from, strength, the stand- 
ard or object of comparison. The initial th in A.-S. thanne was aphthongal. The 
change to the phthongal is unexplained. It occurs also in the definite article, and 
all pronominal words having this initial element and their derivatives ; as the, thou, 
thine, thy , thee; this, that, these, those ; thence, there, thither, thus; therefore, and 
though. The th final is regularly aphthongal also, excepi' in the prepositions ivith 
and derivatives beneath, underneath; the verbs bequeath a,TiA mouth ; &nOi smooths 
adjective and verb, and booth. — Gan, began, A.-S. be, intensive, and gyn, to begin. 
Cf. ^7) SHiiev, jSr; Se Beeiv, in the Iliad. — Meteii, A.-S. met an, to meet ; here, to 
experience. 

22. Merveinous,Fr. m.erveilleitx,La,t.mirabilis. — Swevene, A.-S.sivefene, 
a dream, from swefan, to sleep. Cf. sivoon. For change of A.-S. /"into v, see § 19. 

24. Wlste, knew, A.-S. wit an, to know, past tense rvis te. The root appears in 
Eng. iOiV, wot, wit, ng-/t^eoMsreess (rightwisness). — Nevere, A.-S. naefre, comp. 
of ne and aefer. 

25. BxUeeld, beheld, A.-S. beheald an and beheld an, to behold ; past tense beheold 
and beheld. — Eest, east, A.-S. est. The second e, as also the a in Eng. east is or- 
thographic, § 18 (1). 

26. An, on, A.-S. an or on. — Heigli, high ; A.-S. hig, hih, and heah. 

27. Seigli, saw; A.-S. seah, 1 sing, past tense of seon, to see. Cf. heigh, ver. 26, 
from heah. — Tour, tower, A.-S. tur, tor, and torr. — Toft, hill, A.-S. toft. 

28. TrielicHe, choicely, perfectly ; from same root as try, A.-S. treow ian, and 
true, A.-S. triwe. Cf. Chaucer : "With suger which is trie" — which is choice. — 
Y-maked, made ; A.-S. gemacod, past part, of macian, to make. 

29. Bynetlie, beneath ; A.-S. 6e, if, or 6j/, and nyi/zan or neoZ/saji, beneath. The 
a in beneath is orthographic, § 18 (1) ; for final « see § 26. 

30. Tliei'inne, A.-S. therinne. On initial th see ver. 21. 

31. Depe, A.-S. deop and diop. Cf. deep, ver. 29. — DicUes, ditches, A.-S. 
die as. Dyke and ditches have the same origin. The element ch was already in the 

3 



34 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

language, as is shown by this spelling. The t is orthographic afiOix. — Derlce, dark ; 
A.-S. dearc, and deorc. For final e see § 26. 

32. Dredf uUe, A.-S. draed and/u/. The a in dread is orthographic— Siglite, 
A.-S. gesight, pfirt. from seon, to see. The preposition of expresses the luAence-rela- 
tion of the thought. The meaning is, dreadful as regarded from the siglrt. 

33. Fair, A.-S. faeger and faegr. The guttural has fallen out. — Feeld, field, 
A.-S. f eld arid Jild. The second e is orthographic. —Fill, A.-S. /mZ and /!«M. — 
ITollc, A.-S.folc. Cf. Lat. viilg us, under Grimm's Law, § 35. 

34. Fond, found, A.-S. /and. past tense oi'Jinden, to find. — Ther, there. — 
Bitwene, between, A.-S. be and tweonum, tweonan, or twynan, two. 

35. Manere, manner ; Fr. maniere. The second n in manner is orthographic, 
§ 18 (2). 

36. Meene, A.-S. jnaews, mean. Same stem as in many, and A.-S. gemaen, 
whence our common, Ger. gemein. 

37. 'Werclhynge, pres. part, from A.-S. ivercan, toyrcan, weorc an, to work. — 
Wandryiige, pres. part, from A.-S. ivandr ian, to wander, which is a derivative 
from wend an, to wend, to go. 

39. Piitten, put, 3 pers. plu. of past tense from a root not, so far as known, 
occurring in A.-S. In Danish, however, we have put-te, to put. Cf. Lat. stem pos 
in pono {^pos-no). The n with connecting vowel o usually, but more rarely with 
a and e, was the plu. ending of the perf. in A.-S. and also of the present of some 
verbs which became auxiliaries, as sceal, niagan, cunnan, and Tnot. This sign of the 
plural also took the place of the present plural in th in the parts of England where 
Danish influence reached, while in the west and southwest the form in th remained 
still in use. Thus the " Buch of Layamon,'' written in the western dialect, 1155, and 
the " Ancren Riwlen " (Anchorites' Kules), written probably in Dorsetshire about a 
century and a half later, alike use th ; the " Ormulum," written, it is supposed, at 
about the same time as the " Ancren Riwlen," in a northeastern or eastern county, 
has en, or rather, as the author, Orm, uniformly doubled the consonant after a 
short vowel, emi. — Hem, them. The 3 pers. sing. masc. in A.-S. was thus in- 
flected: nom. he; gen. his; dat. hhn ; ace. hine. The 3 pers. plu. in all genders 
was: nom. hi; gen. hira; dat. him; ace. hi. Layamon ha.sheo}nia both dat. and 
ace. ; the " Ancren Riwlen," hivi ; .and Orm writes heinjn. The h in nom. plu. first 
passed into th ; in poss. and obj. plu. her and /jfiwi were used by Wycliffe and 
Chaucer. 

40. Pleideii, played ; A.-S. pleg an a,nd pleg ian, ■pa.st tense plegode. — Seld, 
seldom ; A.-S. seld, seldom, also seldan and seldon. The last three are old dat. 
plural forms. 

42. STVOiikeii, toiled ; A.-S. swine an, past tense, swanc. The word, now ob- 
solete, was used by Spenser and by Milton. 

43. Wonnen, won; A.-S. win nan, past tense, wan, plu. wunnon. — That, 
what, that which. — "Wastours, wasters; Fr. from Lat. vastatores. The A.-S. 
verb was west an, to waste. 

44. Glotoiiye, gluttony ; A.-S. glut o, a glutton; Fr. glouton, Lat. ghito. — 
Destriiyetli, destroyeth ; Old Fr. destruir, Lat. destruere. The th is plural afiix. 

45. Somme, some ; A.-S. sum. or som, plu. sume or some. The second m is 
orthographic, § 18 (2). 

46. Apparailed, Fr. appareil. 

47. Contenaunce, appearance, from Lat. continere. — Clotliynge, clothing, 
A.-S. claeth, a garment. 

48. Cornell, come; A.-S. cuin an, past tense com, plu. comon. — Deglsed, 
disguised ; Fr. deguiser. 

49. Px'eires, prayers ; "Ev. pricres. . 



PIEiJS PLOUGHMAN. 35 

50. Manye, A.-S. manig, plu. mauige. 
61. Al, all ; A.-S. a^. — Our, A.-S. ure, § 4. 

52. Xiyvedeii, lived. Tho en is plu. affix. See ver. 39. — Streyte, narrowly, 
strictly ; A.-S. gestreht, from strac or strcc, niirrovy. Cf. Lat. strict us. 

53. After, originally compar. of a/i or ae/t, but subsequently used as prep. It is 
not here followed by any object expressed, and is equivalent to hereafter. 

54. Hevene, heaven's; A.-S. Iieofuii and kefaii, from hebban or hefan, to 
heave, to raise. See § 42. The sign of the genitive was sometimes omitted, as an- 
cre riwlen, anchorites' rules. See ver. 212. 

55. AncreS} anchorites, from avaxtopijnjs, one wlio has retired; written by 
Chaucer, anker, by Doime, anachorit. 

50. Hire, their. The A.-S. gen. plu. in all genders was hira; spelled here by 
WycliiTe, and her by Chaucer. The gen. sing, was hire, spelled by Mandeville, here. 
See § 4. — Selles, cells ; Lat. cella. 

57. Coveiten, covet; Old Fr. cotejZer, Lat. cupid us. — Noglit, nothing ; A.- 
S. naht, noht, and nocht, from ne and aht, aught. See Versions, 1. — Contree, 
country ; Fr. contree, Lat. contra, over against, with sufiix. 

58. Carien, care; A.-S. cari an. — Aboute, about; A.-S. a-hutan, comp. of 
an, be, and old ace. form titan, out. Versions, 6. 

59. Likerous, delicate, voluptuous ; A.-S, liccera, a glutton. — liiflode, mode 
of life; A.-S. lif-lade, life-lead. 

60. iLikame, body ; A.-S. Zjc/tawa. —Pie se, please ; ¥r. plaisir. 

61. Clxaflare, merchandise; A.-S. ceap, bargain; hence, ceapman, chapman,, a. 
bargainer, and ceap ian, to chaffer. 

62. Clieveden, succeeded, achieved ; Fr. achever, comp. of a for ad, to, and 
chef, Lat. cap ut, head. — Tlie, old ablative, meaning hy that, by so much. Cf. Lat. 
eo — quo. " Eo gravior est dolor, quo major." — Bettre, better ; A.-S. betere and 
betre. The final e is inflectional. 

64. Swiclie, such ; A.-S. sivllc, comp. of swa, so, and He, same, like. Written 
also soche and suche in P. P., and siche and swilche by Wycliffe. — Thryvetli, 3 
pers. plu. 

65. Murthes, plu. from A.-S, tnirth and myrth. 

66. Mynstralles, minstrels; Old Fr. m.enestral, Lat, m.inistrellus. — lionne, 
know; A.-S, connan and cunnan, to know, to have skill in, to be able. 

68. Giltless, guiltless ; A.-S. gilt, a fault, and laes, privative suffix. The A.-S. 
g was always guttural. For u in guilt, see § 21 (1). — !Leeve, believe ; A.-S. leaf an, 
to believe. 

69. Ac, but ; an A.-S. conj. now obsolete. — Japeres, jesters. The verb jape 
is probably from A.-S. gabb an, to jest. The initial g became i or y, as in geoc, ioc, 
a yoke ; geong, gung, iung, young; gea, ia, yea. This change would be effected 
through the insertion of a light vowel element, a sheva, after the initial consonant 
— a very common practice. — Jangeleres, praters ; Fr. jangler. 

71. reinen, feign; 'Er.feindre, La.t. Jing ere. The Fr. part, is feign ant ; 3 plu. 
pres./c7g-n ent. — Hem, dat. plu. See n. ver. 39. 

73. Hau, have, contraction of habban ; 3 plu. habb an, to have. The regular 
3 plu. ind. was habboth, but the th passed into n, which seems to be the older 
form. See n. ver. 39. 

74. Wolde, would. The A.-S. perf, plu. of will en, to will, was woldan. The 
plu. sign, n, was dropped. See n. ver. 39. 

76. Wol, wil. Cf. A,-S. IV ill an, Ger. will en, Dan. wille, lia,t.volo, velle, 
Gr. jSovAo^iai. — Nat, not; A.-S. nate, from ne and aht. — Preve, prove; A.-S. 
prof ian. CtDauU. prlive,Qer. priifen,'Er. prouver, 0. Fi. prover, ha,t. probare. Wyc- 
liffe has preef, profe, and prevyden. Cf. meve, move, chese, choose, in Chaucer, Man- 
deville, and Wycliffe. 



36 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

77. He who speaks foul speech. 

78. Liiciferes, A.-S. genitive. — Hyne, servant; A.-S. hyne, hine,iL-nihina. 

79. Bidtleres, petitioners ; A.-S. bid dere, from hidd an, to ask, to bid. 

80. Xede, went ; A.-S. gan, to go, past tense eorfe, pronounced yoile. Cf. P. Q. 
III. viii. 34, ''So forth they yode ;'] and I. ii. 5, " Then badd the knight his lady 
yede aloof." 

81. Bagges, A.-S. haelg, bag, belly. Cf Lat. baga, Gael, bag and baelg. There 
is a play on the words belies, bellies, and bagges, the two being the same originally. 

82. Breed., bread; A.-S. bread and bread, from breowian and briiu an, to 
brow. Bread is thus breived. It was variously spelled brede, breed, and bread, by 
early English writers. The pronunciation was doubtless the same. 

83. Faiteden, begged ; OM'^i./aiten. 

85. Woot, knows; A.-S. wat, 1 and 3 sing. pres. ind. of ivitan, to know; 
past tense, luist e. The second o is orthographic, § 18 (1). 

86. Bedde, bed ; A.-S. bed, baed, and bedde. 

87. Kiliaiidie, ribaldry, from Fr. 

88. Tlio, those: A.-S. tlia. — Itoberdcs Itiiaves, a class of evil-doers, also 
called wastours, particularly named in the statutes of Edward III. and Richard II. 
" Gentz quisont appellez Roberdesmen, Wastours, et Draghelatche." 

89. Sleiitlie, sloth ; A.-S. slewth and slaewth, from slaic, slow, idle, lazy. 

90. Se'wetSi, follow ; Fr. siiivre, Lat. segui. We find these forms, sywede, 
seived, suede, sued, followed ; and sewe, sue, follow. Cf. ensue, pursue. — Evere, 
ever, adv. ; A.-S. aefre and aefer. 

91. Palmeres, pilgrims, so called from the staves of palm which they bore from 
the Holy Land. 

92. Pligliten, pledge; A.-S. pliht en, plight, pledge. Cf. under Grimm's Law. 
Lat. obligo. — Togidere, together; A.-S. to-gaedere smd io-gadre. 

95. Wey, way ; A.-S.iveg. See Versions, 4. 

97. liyen, lie ; A.-S. teog n7i. 

98. Seigli, vcr. 27. — Seidell, Versions, 2. 

101. Ec3i, each ; A.-S. aelc and elc. The A.-S. c has passed in many words into 
ch, as sc into sh. 

102. Toiige, tongue, often written tong. Cf tangs. 

103. Moore, more ; A.-S. mar. The r is compar. affix, § 42. The second o is 
orthographic, § 18 (1). — Seye, say; A.-S. secg an, or saegan. See Versions, 2. 
— Sootii, truth ; A.-S. soth. See Versions, 7. 

104. Seined, seemed; A.-S. senian. The second e is orthographic, § 18 (1). 
Speclie, speech; A.-S. spec an, to speak. The second e in speech, and the a in 
speak are orthographic, § 18 (1). 

105. All, see ver. 5. — Heep, heap ; A.-S. heap, a company or large band. 

106. Hoked, hooked ; A.-S. Aoc, a hook, see § 18(1). — Staves, A.-S. stafas, 
plu. of staef. The etymology indicates that the a has the sound of a in father, rather 
than a in fate. For v, see § 19. 

107. Wolsyiighain, a parish in Norfolk county, England, where was a shrine 
of the Virgin Mary, of great celebrity. The followers of Wycliffe, especially, de- 
nounced pilgrimages to this shrine. 

108. "VVeiiclies, A.-S. ivenche, a maid, daughter. It was used in a good sense, 
as r. P. applies it to the Virgin Mary. 

109. Grete, great ; A.-S. great, the pronvuiciation of which was represented by 
the spelling grele. — Xobies, loobies or lubbers. The stem is lob, a clown. " Bion, 
therefore, was but a very lob." — Holland. "I am none of those heavy lobcoclis 
that are good for nothing." — Caryll, 1671. "And though you think it lubber- 
like." — Gascoigne. The verb to lob signifies to droop, hence to be inert, to be heavy, 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 37 

" And their poor jades lob down their heads." — Shakespeare, Henry V. iv. 2. 
Cf. Dan. luhben, gross ; Ger. lappe. 

110. I^otlie, loath ; A.-S. lath. — Swynlte. See ver. 42. 

111. Copes, A.-S. cappa and caeppe, a cap, a hood. See § 46 (2). 

112. Ben, old inf. and 3 plvi. of to he. — Otliere, others, plu. of other. 

113. Sliopen, made, plu. past tense of shape j A.-S. scap an or sceop an. 
See ¥er. 3. 

115. IToiitl, found ; A.-S. /and. See ver. 34. — Fi'ei'es, friars or brothers; Fr. 
ffereSjJjUt.fratres. The word was spelled iu the sixteenth century _/>-iere. It seems 
to have become a regular dissyllable, and the accent being drawn back by the 
analogy of the language, the i, a mere supposititious element in the word, came to 
appear as a true primitive in it, and took its long usual sound at the end of an 
accented syllable. The four orders of friars were the Franciscans, Augustines, Do- 
minicans, and Carmelites. 

117. Peple, people, here dat. plu.; Tr. peuple, Lat. populus. Wycliffe wrote 
picple, Luke iii. 7 ; Rom. x. 21, xi. 1 ; Chaucer, peple ; Gower, writing more under 
influence of French literature, people. Hume, in his "Grammar,"' 1617, censures this 
spelling, people. " For peple, they write people, I trow because it comes from 
populus ; but if that be a reason, I wold understand a reason quhy they speak not 
soealsoe." 

118. Hemselve, themselves. Cf. hem, ver. 39. The e final is .sign of plural. 

119. Glosed, interpreted, glozed. " A gloss,"' says Hallam, " properly meant 
a word from a foreign language, or an obsolete or poetical word, or whatever requires 
interpretation. It was afterwards used for the interpretation itself." " Literature of 
Europe,'" chap. i. §"69. The modern word g'^ze has been lowered to an unfavor- 
able sense, meaning misinterpret. The s was phthongal by rule, § 19, and is now 
rightly written z. 

120. Hem, to them, dat. plu. — I,ik;etl, seemed ; A.-S. lie, a form or shape. 
It is used impersonally, like thinks inmethinks, ver. 330. 

121. Covetise, covetous desire. Spenser, F. Q. III. iv. 7, uses the noun covetize. 
Old Fr. covetise, from Lat. cupid us. Cf. Wycliffe, 1 John ii. 16, " Coveitise of 
fleisch and coveitise of izen." 

122. Coiistruwecl, construed ; Lat. con-stnio. 

123. Maistre, master; \ja,t. viagister. 

126. Moneie, money ; Old Fr. inoneie, Lat. moneta, A.-S. mynet, from niynmi, 
to remember, to mean, a coin. A piece of money was thus something meant or 
marked for a special use ; niint is from the same source. Vossius derives moneta 
from moneo, " quia nota inscripta monet nos autoris et valoris." — Marcliantlize, 
Fr. marrJiand, a merchant : Lat. ?nercans. from mercari, to traffic. 

126. Mai'ciieii, march, travel ; Fr. marcher. The primitive stem is found in 
A.-S. 7nearc or marc, a mark, hence a boundary. To m,arch meant to go to the 
boundaries for defense, hence applied to an army. — Togideres, together, an old 
gen. form. Cf. towards, A.-S. to ivardes. 

127. Sitli, afterwards, late, adv. from A.-S. sith, a path, a movement, time. 
Hence sith than and sith thans, after that, since. — Cliarite, Fr. charite, Lat 
caritas. — Chapman. See ver. CI. 

128. Sliryve, shrive ; A.-S. serif an. Hence scrift, shrift, confession. 

129. Ferlies. See ver. 11. 

130. Yeres, years ; A.-S. gear and year. 

131. But, unless ; Versions, 6. — Hii, they. See ver. 39. The final i is ortho- 
graphic merely. 

133. Mooste, most; A.-S. ?naest. The second o is orthographic; the finale, 
inflectional. — Mescliief , mischief; OldFr. meschef. — Molde, earth ; A.-S. mold. 



88 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

The meaning is : unless Holy Cliurch aud they hold together better, the greatest 
mischief on earth increases very fast. 

138. Seles, seals; A.-S. sigel, the sun, anything that glitters, a jewel, a seal. 
Spelled seel, ver. 157. 

139. Myglite, was able ; A.-S. jnihle, past tense of mag an, to be able. 

140. Assoillen, absolve; Old B'r. assoile, 113,1. absolvere. 

141. Falsliede, falsehood, from false and suffix head or hood. Fulsehede of 
fastynge is breaking of fasting. 

142. Avowes, vows, from Norman Fr. Of. Fr. voeii ; Lat. vo turn, vov ere. — 
Y-brolten. The prefix y is for ge, part, prefix, § 44 (2). 

143. Leaved, men, men of tlie laity, not ecclesiastics ; A.-S. laewede, laical, be- 
longing to the laity, from te«?t) (a»!, to mislead, betray. The worse sense has pre- 
vailed in the modern use of the word. — Iieved, believed. See ver. 68. 

145. CoiTien, plu. form. See ver. 39 on piitten. — Kiielynge, probably from 
Dan. knael e, to kneel, A.-S. cneow ian. The stem is kn. Cf. Gr. ywu ; Lat. genu. 

147. Jiouclied hem, stopped their mouths. Cf. Fr. bouche, mouth. Another 
reading is: He blessed hem; and still another: bunchith hem, beats, or pushes 
them. 

148. Blered, bleared. Of doubtful etymology, perhaps connected with blur. — 
Eiglien, eyes, A.-S. eah and eage. The presence of the guttural, as characteristic 
element of the stem represented by y in eye , is noticeable in Lat. oc ulus, Gr. ok os, 
Ger. aitge, Icelandic auga. 

149. liauglite, reached, old past tense of to reach, A.-S. race an ; past tense, 
ra/ite. — Kagemaii. Nares says this word stands for the devil. Ragman's roll, that 
is, deviVs roll, was " a collection of those deeds by which the nobility and gentry of 
Scotland were tyrannically constrained to subscribe allegiance to Edward I. of Eng- 
land, in 1296." — Jamieson. Afterwards ragman came to mean a writing or scroll. 
Rigmarole is a corruption of ragman's roll. The meaning here seems to be : the 
pardoner drew up rings and brooches with his scroll. 

150. Broclies, broaches ; Fr. broche, a spit. In P. P. 11,857 it means something 
that is easily ignited. The original meaning was probably a splinter, hence, a sharp 
stick, a spit, a bodkin, an ornament of which a slender, splinter-like piece, as a pin, 
was a characteristic part. It is spelled broach, brooch, broche, but pronounced the 
Bame way in all the three spellings. 

153. LevetSi, believe. See ver. 68. — XiOSels, vagabonds, profligates, from A.-S. 
leos an and leor an, to lose, to wander away. It is akin to lorn, which is a participle 
of the same verb. If lorel be a different word from losel, as some insist it should be 
regarded, it is of the same origin, and has the same import. 

155, 156. This passage is very obscure. If the text be correct, the meaning would 
seem to be : If the bishop were in bliss, and it should come to his full hearing. — 
Wortli, happen, become ; A.-S. weorth an, to be, become. Cf. Ezek. xxx. 2, " Wo 
worth the day ; " wo happen, come to the day. — Eris, ears ; A.-S. eare. Cf. Dan. 
'6re ; Ger. ohr, the h here being orthographic; Lat. auris; Gr. ous. Eris is dative, 
remote object of tvorth. 

157. Seel, seal. See ver. 138. — Sholde, should, A.-S. sceolde, past tense of 
sceal, shall. — Noglit, not. See ver. 57. 

160. Boy. Cf. Dan. png ; Fr. page, Lat.puer. P.P. uses this word in connec- 
tion with " beggeres," as, ver. 6,962 : " No beggere ne boye amonges us ; " and " To 
beggeres and to l/oyes that loth ben to worcke." 

161. ParissJhe, parish ; Fr. paroisse, Lat. parochia, Gr. wapoiKta, from irapa, 
by, and oIkos. — Freest, priest; A.-S. preost, Lat. presbyter, Gr. Trpecr/Surepos, 
older. 

163. Poraille, poor, a collective, or rather a mass noun; Norman Fr. pour, 
Mod. Fr. pauvre ; Lat. pauper. 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 39 

166. Pleyned hem, bewailed themselves; Fr. plaindre, Lat. plangere. Cf. 
" And to himself thus plained.^'' — Milton, " Par. Lost," bli. iv. 504. The prefix co^n 
ia complain is intensive ; and the stronger word has crowded out of use the weaker 
whicli was in frequent use by the earlier English writers. 

167. Povere, poor ; Fr. pauvre. 

168 Tlie pestilence, the great plague of 1349-50. — Sith. See ver. 127. 
169. In order to have leave to dwell at Iiondou. 

175. Cure, charge. Lat. cur a. — Crist. The chi (x) of the Greek was often 
represented in Latin and derived languages bj' the unaspirated guttural. 

181. Iiiggen, lie ; A.-S. licg an and ligg an, to lie down. The A.-S. of lie, to de- 
ceive, was leogan. 

182. Ijenteii, in Lent. — Ellis, at other times, A.-S. elles, else. See Versions, 11. 

184. Tellen, tell, compute, A.-S. tell an. 

185. Clieltei', the Exchequer. See n. Task, ii. ver. 162. 

186. Clialaiigen, demand, Fr. chalange.r, Lat. calumniari. 

187. Wardes, guards, A.-S. weard. — Wardemotes, ward-meetings, A.-S. 
tveard and mot, an assembly. 

188. Weyves, plu. of wnif, something found belonging to an unknown owner ; 
originally applied to what was thrown a,viay , ivaived , hy a. thief. — Streyves, es- 
trays. This law-term has an Anglo-Norman physiognomy, although of affinity to 
A.-S. straeg an, to scatter. 

189. Servauntz, servants ; Old Fr. se.rvantes. 

191. Stede, stead, place ; A.-S. stede. — Stywardes, stewards; A.-S. stow- 
tveard, literally, place-guard. 

192. Demeii, deem, judge, A.-S. deman. Hence, dooin. 

193. Messe, mass; A.-S. maesse a,ndmesse, La.t. missa. The name arose from 
the words used to dismiss catechumens, ite missa est, sc. ecclesia, before the com- 
munion, at which they were not allowed to be present. 

195. Aril, plur. of zo be. — Dooii, done. Cf. 6rooc/i and ftrocAe, ver. 150. The 
was long as in note. — Uiidevoutliclie, undevoutly. A hybrid having Lat. 
stem devotus, and A.-S. prefix vn, and sufiix liche. 

196. Drede is at tlie last, there is ground of fear. 

197. Coii.sistorie, place of judging, judgment seat, Lat. consistorium. 

198. Acorse, accurse ; A.-S. curs ian, with transitive prefix a for an. 

204. Highte, bade ; A.-S. hat an, past tense het, heht. 

205. Amoiiges, among; A.-S. mengan, to mix, with prefix a for a». The es is 
sign of gen., § 42. The t in amongst is euphonic, § 38. 

207. Cardinals, prime or fundamental virtues, on which others hinge or turn ; 
Lat. cardinalis, from cardo, hinge. 

208. Yates, gates. See § 25. 

210. Sliette, shut; A.-S. sett t an. The vulgar pronunciation, sAef, appears to 
be in accordance with the usage in Langland's time. Many vulgarisms are genuine 
archaisms. 

212. Hevene bliss. See n. ver. 54. — - Sliewe, show ; A.-S. scecnvian. 

214. Eauglit of tliat name, caught hold of that name. Catck is from Old 
Fr. cacer, cacier, from Lat. captare (captiare), the last guttural in the stem passing 
into cli represented by tch in the present ; in the past tense, caught, passing 
into gh. 

218. Nelle, will not, am unwilling; A.-S. nelle, 1 sing. pres. ind. of nyll an, 
to be unwilling. 

219. liSttrure, learning, scripture; Lat. literatiira. Cf. Chaucer, C. T. 14,415; 
"To techen him lettrure and curtesie." 

221. ror-tlii, for this; therefore. 



40 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

224. Knyglitliod, A.-S. cniht hod, properly boyhood, from cniht, a boy, 
hence, a military follower, and Aorf, habit, state, condition. — Ladde, led; A.-S. 
laed an, to lead ; past tense, laed de, led. 

226. Kegne, reign; Old Fr. reigyi er, Lat. regn are. The popular election of 
kings was not unknown in the time of Langlande. 

227. Kyiide, natural ; A.-S. cynd, nature, cynde, natural. The stem letters are 
en. Cf. Lat. gen u i. The d is formative. 

233. Casteii, determined; Dan. kaste, to cast. 

234. Hemself, here in the nom. in apposition with commune. — ITyiide, 
invent, contrive, as in next ver. it is said they did. 

235. Contreved, contrived ; Fr. controuver ; Ital. con and trovare, to find. Cf. 
preven, prove, ver. 76. 

239. Tilie, till ; A.-S. «i7(ara. — TravaHle, labor, Fr. travailler. 

242. Thridde, third, A.-S. thridde, § 46(1). 

243. Sliopeii. See ver. 3. — ILeaute, loyalty ; Fr. loyaute, Ital. lealta, Lat. 
legalitas. 

248. Clei'gially, in a learned way, in the manner of a clergyman. 

250. Kyngi'iclie , kingdom ; A.-S. cyngrice, comp. of cyng, and rica, govern- 
ment. Cf bishopric. 

251. Leiie, grant ; A.-S. laen ian, to lend. The meaning is : and grant thee to 
lead (govern) thy land so that loyal subjects may love thee, and for thy rightful 
ruling to be rewarded in heaven. Cf. Chaucer, " Legende," 2081 : " And lene me 
never such a case befall." 

252. Jjovye, subj. mood ; A.-S. htfige, from lufian, to love. 

254. Be rewarded, inf. and object, of lene. 

255. Sitlie 11, afterwards, then. See ver. 127. — Eyr, air, Fr. air; Lat. aer. 
" I fighte not as beting the eir." Wycliffe, 1 Cor. ix. 26. Tyndale has ayer; Chaucer 
writes eyre. — An, on, A.-S. an and on. 

'ISl. XfOwed, made himself low, condescended, § 47 (2). 

258. Koiide, could; A.-S. citthe, past tense of cunnan, to ken, to know, to be 
able. The I in the modern cotdd is probably from a mistaken analogy in this form 
to ivould and should. It was spelled coude by Chaucer, and couth by Spenser. 

259. Jiigge, judge ; ¥r. juger. 
262. ITor-thi. See ver. 221. 

262-276. In this Latin should be noticed the absence of the double accent, and of 
the alliteration that belong to the English of the poem. It has, however, a limping 
rhyme, which is noticeable. A close translation is : — 

I am king, I am chief, 

Neither perhaps hereafter; 

O thou who administerest laws, 

Christ's special laws administerest, 

That which thou mayest better do, 

Be just, be merciful. 

Bare justice by thee 

Should be clothed with mercy. 

What thou wouldst reap 

Such seed sow. 

If justice is bared. 

Of bare justice must thou reap; 

If mercy be sown. 

Of mercy mayst thou reap. 

277. Greved , grieved ; Old Fr. grierej- and grevcr. — Goliardeis, a parasite. 
Goliards, says Mr. Wright, were " riotous and unthrifty scholars who attended on 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 41 

the tables of the richer ecclesiastics, and gained their living and clothing by prac- 
ticing the profession of buffoons and jesters." 

281-284. Since ruler from ruling 
Is said to have his nanie» 
He has the name without the thing 
Unless he aims to keep the laws. 

285. Gau, began. Sec vcr. 21. 

289, 290. The commandments of the king are to us the constraints of law. 

291. Koiite, an irruption ; Kr. route. 

292. Katons, rats ; A.-S. met ; Old High Ger. ralo. — Ones, once. See § 42. 

293. Mees, mice ; A.-S. 7nus, plu. mys. — Myd, with ; A.-S. ■inid and myd. 
291. IVIo, more ; A.-S ma and mae, contraction of mara, compar. of mych, 

much. 

298. Hym, remote object of liked (^pleased). See ver. 120. 

299. Overleep, overleaped, past tense, from A.-S. ofer and hleap an. 
302. Possed, pushed ; Fr. poiisser. 

304. ]>ar, dare ; A.-S. dear an. 

305. Griicciie, grudge, complain, formerly written gruch, grutck, and groche ; 
Old Fr. grouch er. — Gameii, sport ; A.-S. gamen. 

307. Cracclieii, scratch ; Dan. kradse and kratse. The initial s in scratch is in- 
tensive prefix. Cf. creak, screak; cringe, scringe. 

308. Cloiiciies, clutches, fr. A.-S. gelaeccan, to seize; Scotch, cluk, to snatch. 

309. liOtlietli, is loathsome. See ver. 110. 

310. liate, let ; A.-S. laet an, to let. 

312. "Witlistoiide, withstand, from A.-S. stand an. * 

813. O-lofte, aloft, on high ; A.-S. on and lyft, the air. 

315. Kenoiiii, renown; Fr. renominee. 

316. Kenalble. Another reading has rescmai/e, reasonable. 

318. Hymselve, themselves. The final e here is sign of plural. Cf. heinself, 
ver. 234. ' 

319. Y-seyen, seen ; A.-S. gesegen. The y is for ge, participle prefix. See 
§§ 23, 44 (2). — Segge, men ; A.-S. secg, a speaker, a man. — Quod, said ; A.-S. 
cvneth an, to say, past tense cuae.th and cuaed. 

320. Cite, city ; Fr. cite. 

321. Bereii, bear; A.-S. her an. — Beiglies, collars; A.-S. heah, beh, baeh, a 
metal ornament, whether ring, necklace, or crown. 

325. Wareyiie, a warren, a guarded place, an inclosure ; A.-S. wae.rian and 
werian, to protect, to guard ; Old Fr. varenne ; New Fr. garenne. 

326. Hemself liked. See vv. 120,320. 

327. Outlier, other ; A.-S. athor, author, and other. 

330. Me tliiiiltetli, to me seemeth. Cf. hern liked, ver. 120 ; hym liked, ver. 
298; he.mself liked, -ver. 326; hym list, ver. Sil; him ple.ye liketh, ver. 344; hym 
wratheth, ver. 345. 

331. Myghte, might ; A.-S. viihte, past tense of mag an, to be able. — Witen, 
know ; A.-S. ivit an. 

382. Aveey, away ; A.-S. a-ioeg-, from an and iveg. — Kenne,run ; A.-S. rennen, 
to run. 
885. Biigge, buy; A.-S. bycgan. 

337. Knytten, bind ; A.-S. cnitt an and cnyt an, to knit ; to bind. 
339. Kyt, ride, 3 sing. pres. ; A.-S. rid. 

341. liaike, play ; A.-S. Zacc an and lac an. — For expresses relation of object 
of design or purpose. 

342. Xioke, look ; A.-S. locian. — Mowcn, may ; A.-S. mag an. 



42 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

343. Peeren, appear ; Fr. paroir. 

345. Wratlietli, is angry with, wraths, provokes; A.-S. wrathian. Hym is ob- 
ject of wrathetk, ver. 330. Cf. Wycliffe, Heb. iii. 16. " For summen heryinge 
wratheden," provoked. 

347. Slionye, shun ; A.-S. scun ian, to shun. 

352. Keaume, realm; Old Fr. realnie, reaume; New Fr. royaume; Spanish 
reahne {:=iregalme). 

353. Dorste, durst ; A.-S. dear, dare ; 3 past tense, dorste. 

354. Cattes, old gen. with connecting vowel. 

355. Hals, neck ; A.-S. hals, cf. Lat. coll um. 

862 Koiitlie knew; A.-S. cimji an, past tense cuthe. — Me tliouglite' See 
ver. 330. 

366. Kelierced, rehearsed; apparently a hybrid comp. of A -S. her an, to hear 
and Lat. prefix re. 

370. Cropeii, should creep ; A.-S. creop an, past tense, plu. crup an. 

372. Wortlieibe; A.-S. weorthan, to become, to be. 

377. Tliex", when. The A.-S. demonstratives timer, ther, and thaer, as well ns se, 
seo, timet, and the, were commonly used as relatives — Kitoiie, a dhninutive from 
cat, with change of vowel. Cf. chicken, from cock. The n, not the o, is the sign of 
the diminutive. 

378. Eleiige, ailing ; A.-S. eglian, and elian, to ail. 

381. " Wo to the land where the king is a child ! " — Eccl. x. 16. 

382. Reiilt, man ; — "a word used chiefly in the metrical romances and in pop- 
ular poetry." — Wright, " Dictionary." 

384. Caccetli, catcheth. See ver. 214. — Conynges, rabbits ; Old Fr. conil, 
cSnin, Lat. cuniciilus, Dan. kanin. 

385. Caroyiie, carrion, from Lat. caro. 

389. Soi-we, sorrow ; A -S. sorg, sorh. 

390. Maze, wonder, of doubtful etymology; A.-S. mase, whirlpool, and missian, 
to miss, to err, have been suggested. 

391. Tlieigli, though; A.-S. theh, theah. — Slierewe, a shrew, a perverse 
person, from the verb, to screw meaning a screwed, twisted person. See .1. C. II. 1. 

396. Nere, were not; A.-S. neom (= ne and eow), am not; past tense, .subj. 
narre, were not. 
401. Miicliel, much ; A.-S. mycel. 

406. Catel, goods, property ; Anglo-Norman catal, Lat. capitate. 

407. Bi-kiio'\ven, acknowledge. — Noltle, would not ; A.-S «oW«, past tense 
of nyll an, to be unwilling, to will. 

413. "Wite, know; A.-S. wit an. 

414. Metels, dream ; A.-S. maet an, to dream. 



3. SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE, 1300-1372. 

Sir John Mandeville was born in St. Albans, a borough in Hertfordshire, 
about ten miles northwest of London, in 1300. He was highly educated and became 
proficient in theology, natural philosophy, and medicine. In 1322 he " passed the 
Bea" and "went thorough many divers lands, and many provinces, and kingdoms, 
and isles," Tartary, Per.sia, Armenia, Lybia, Chaldea, Ethiopia, India, etc. Thirty- 
four year.i after, in 1356, he wrote a narrative of his travels in Latin, which he trans- 
lated into French, and " translated it again out of French into English." His book, 
which is a singular collection of personal observations and fabulous hearsays, was 
very popular, and many manuscript copies of it were in circulation. It is regarded 



SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE. 43 

as the oldest proper English work iu pi-ose. The diction is, however, less antique than 
the poetry of his contemporaries, Langlande and Chancer. It contains, as would be 
supposed, many more French words and idioms. He died in Liege, Nov. 17, 1372. 

The following extract is from chapter xv. in the London edition of 1839, by 0. Hal- 
liwell. It is paragraphed for convenience of reference. 

1. In that Lond, ne in many otliere be^onde that, no man may 
see the Sterre transmontane, that is clept the Sterre of the See, 
that is unmevable, and that is toward the Northe, that we clepen 
the Lode Sterre. But men seen another Stei're, the contrarie to 
him, that is toward the Southe, that Is clept Antartyk. And 
right as the Schip men taken here avys here, and governe hem 
be the Lode Sterre, right so don Schip men be^onde the parties, 
be the Sterre of the Southe, the whiche Sterre apperethe not to 
ns. And this Sterre, that is toward the northe, that wee ctepen 
the Lode Sterre, ne apperethe not to hem. 

2. For whiche cause, men may wel perceyve, that the Lond 
and the See ben of rownde schapp and forme. For the partie 
of the firmament scheweth in o contree, that schewethe not in 
another contree. And men may well preven be experience and 
sotyle compassement of Avytt, that ^if a man fond passages b^ 
Schippes, that wolde go to serchen the world, men myghte go be 
Schippe alle aboute the world, and aboven and benethen. 

3. The whiche thing I prove thus, afire that I have seyn. For 
I have ben toward tlie parties of Braban, and beholden the As- 
trolabre, that the Sterre that is clept the Transmontayne, is 53 
degrees highe. And more forthere in Almayne and Bewme, it 
hathe 58 degrees. And more forthe toward the parties septeni- 
trioneles, it is 62 degrees of heghte, and certeyn Mynutes. For 
I my self have niesured it by the Astrolabre. Now schuUe :^e 
knowe, that a^en the Transmontayne, is the tother Sterre, that is 
clept Antartyke ; as I have seyd before. And the 2 sterres ne 
meeven nevere. 

4. And be hem turnethe alle the Firmament, righte as dothe a 
Wheel, that turnethe be his Axllle Tree : So that tho sterres beren 
the Firmament in 2 egalle parties ; so that it hathe als mochel 
aboven, as it hathe benethen. Aftre this, I have gon toward the 
parties meridionales, that is toward the Southe ; and I have 
founden, that in Lybye, men seen first the Sterre Antartyk. And 
so fer I have gon more forthe in tho Contrees, that I have founde 
that Sterre more highe ; so that toward the highe Lybye, it is 18 
degrees of heghte, and certeyn Minutes (of the whiche, 60 Min- 
utes makcn a Degree). 



44 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

5. Aftre goynge be See and be Londe, towards this Contree, of 
that I have spoke, and to other Yles and Londes be^onde that Con- 
tree, Ihavefounden the Sterre Antartyk of 33 Degrees of heghte, 
and mo mynutes. And ^if I hadde had Companye and Schippynge, 
for to go more be^onde, I trowe wel in certeyn, that wee scholde 
have seen alle the ronndnesse of the Firmament alle aboute. For 
as I have seyd :50u be forn, the half of the Firmament is betwene 
tho 2 Sterres ; the whiche halfondelle I have seyn. 

6. And of the tother halfondelle, I have seyn toward the 
Northe, imdre the Transmontayne 62 Degrees and 10 Mynutes ; 
and toward the partie meridionalle, I have seen undre the An- 
tartyk 33 Degrees and 16 Mynutes: and thanne the halfondelle 
of the Firmament in alle, ne holdethe not but 180 Degrees. And 
of tho 180, I have seen 62 on that o part, and 33 on that other 
part, that ben 95 Degrees, and nygbe the halfondelle of a Degi-ee, 
and so there ne faylethe but that I have seen alle the Firmament, 

. saf 84 Degrees and the halfondelle of a Degree ; and that is not 
the fourthe part of the Firmament. 

7. For the 4 partie of the roundnesse of the Firmament holt 90 
Degrees : so there faylethe but 5 Degrees and an half, of the 
fourthe partie. And also I have seen the 3 parties of alle "the 
roundnesse of the Firmament, and more ^it 5 Degrees and an half. 
Be the whiche I seye ^ou certeynly, that men may envirowne alle 
the Erthe of alle the world, as wel undre as aboven, and turnen 
a^en to his Contree, that hadde Companye and Schippynge and 
Conduyt ; and alle iveyes he scholde fynde Men, Londes, and 
Yles, als wel as in this Contree. 

8. For ^ee wyten welle, that thei that ben toward the Antartyk, 
thei ben streghte, feet a^en feet of hem, that dwellen undre the 
transmontane ; als wel as wee and thei that dwellyn under us, 
ben feet a^enst feet. For alle the parties of See and of Lond 
han here appositees, habitables or trepassables, and thei of this 
half and beyond half And wytethe wel, that aftre that, that I 
may parceyve and comprehende, the Londes of Prestre John, 
Emperour of Ynde, ben undre us. For in goynge from Scot- 
lond or from Englond toward Jerusalem, men gon upward 
alweys. 

9. For oure Londe is in the lowe partie of the Erthe, toward 
the West : and the Lond of Prestre John is the lowe partie of 
the Erthe, toward the Est : and thei han there the day, whan 
wee have the nyghte, and also highe to the contrarie, thei han 



SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE. 45 

the nygbte, whan wee han the Day. For the Erthe and the See 
ben of round forme and schapp, as I have seyd beforn. And 
that that men gon upward to o Cost, men gon downward to 
another Cost. Also ^ee have herd me seye, that Jerusalem is 
in the myddes of the World ; and that may men preven and 
schewen there, be a Spere, that is pighte in to the Erthe, upon 
the hour of mydday, whan it is Equinoxlum, that schewethe no 
schadwe on no syde. And that it scholde ben in the myddes of 
the World, David wytnessethe it in the Psautre, where he seythe, 
Deus operatus est salute in medio Terre. — [Ps. Ixxiv., 12.] 

10. Thanne thei that parten fro the j^arties of the West, for 
to go toward Jerusalem, als many iorneyes as thei gon upward 
for to go thidre, in als many iorneyes may thei gon fro Jerusalem, 
unto other confynyes of the Superficlahtie of the Erthe bepnde. 
And Avhan men gon be^onde tho iourneyes, toward Ynde and to 
the foreyn Yles, alle is envyronynge the roundnesse of the Erthe 
and of the See, undre oure Contrees on this half. And therfore 
bathe it befallen many tymes of o thing, that I have herd cownted, 
whan I was ^ong ; how a worthi man departed somtyme from oure 
Contrees, for to go serche the World. 

11. And so he passed Ynde, and the Yles be^onde Ynde, 
where ben mo than 5000 Yles : and so longe he wente be See 
and Lond, and so enviround the World be many seysons, that he 
fond an Yle, where he herde speke his owne Langage, callynge 
on Oxen in the Plowghe, suche Wordes as men speken to Bestes 
in his owne Contree : whereof he hadde gret mervayle : for he 
knewe not how it myghte be. But I seye, that he had gone so 
longe, be Londe and be See, that he had envyround alle the 
Erthe, that he was comen a^en envirounynge, that is to seye, 
goylnge aboute, unto his owne Marches, ^if he wolde have passed 
Ibrthe, til he hadfounden his Contree, and his owne knowleche. 

12. But he turned a^en from thens, from whens he was come 
fro ; and so he loste moche peyneluUe labour, as him self seyde, a 
gret while aftre, that he was comen hom. For it befelle aftre, 
that he wente in to Norweye ; and there Tempest of the See 
toke him ; and he arryved in an Yle ; and whan he was in that 
Yle, he knew wel that it was the Yle, where he had herd speke 
his owne Langage before, and the callynge of the Oxen at the 
Plowghe : and that was possible thinge. But how it semethe to 
symple men unlerned, that men ne mowe not go undre the Erthe, 
and also that men scholde falle toward the Heve'ne, from undre. 



46 KEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

13. But that may not be, upon lesse, that wee mowe falle 
toward Hevene, fro the Erthe, where wee ben. For fro what 
parties of the Erthe, that men duelle, outher aboven or benethen, 
it semethe alweys to hem that duellen, that thei gon more righte 
than ony other folk. And righte as it semethe to us, that thei 
ben undre us, righte so it semethe hem, that wee ben undre hem. 
For ^if a man myghte falle fro the Erthe unto the Firmament ; 
be grettere resoun, the Erthe and the See, that ben so grete and 
so hevy, scholde fallen to the Firmament : but that may not be ; 
and therfore seithe oure Lord God : Non timeas me, qui suspendi 
Terra ex nichilo ? [Job xxvi. 7.] 

14. And alle be it that it be possible thing, that men may so 
envyronne alle the World, natheles of a 1000 persones, on ne 
myghte not happen to returnen in to his Contree. For, for the 
gretnesse of the Erthe and of the See, men may go be a 1000 
and a 1000 other weyes, that no man cowde redye him perfitely 
toward the parties that he cam fro, but ^if it were be aventure 
and happ, or be the grace of God. For the Erthe is fuUe large 
and fuUe gret, and holt in roundnesse and aboute envj^roun, be 
aboven and be benethen 20,425 Myles, aftre the opynyoun of 
the olde wyse Astronomeres. And here seyenges I repreve 
noughte. 

15. But aftre my lytylle wytt, it semeth me, savynge here 
reverence, that it is more. And for to have bettere under- 
stondynge, I seye thus : Be ther ymagyned a Figure, that hathe 
a gret Compas ; and aboute the poynte of the gret Compas, that 
is clept the Centre, be made another litille Compas ; than aftre, 
be the gret Compas devised be Lines in manye parties ; and that 
alle the Lynes meeten at the Centre ; so that in as many parties, 
as the grete Compas schal be departed, in als manye schalle be 
departed the litille, that is aboute the centre, alle be it that the 
spaces ben lesse. 

16. Now thanne, be the gret compas rej^resented for the fir- 
mament, and the litille compasse represented for the Erthe. Now 
thanne the Firmament is devysed, be Astronomeres, in 1 2 Signes ; 
and every Signe is devysed in 30 Degrees, that is 360 Degrees, 
that the Firmament hathe aboven. Also, be the Erthe devysed 
in als many parties, as the Firmament ; and lat every partye 
answere to a Degree of the Firmament ; and wytethe it wel, that 
aftre the auctoures of Astronomye, 700 Furlouges of Erthe 
answeren to a Degree of the Firmament; and tho ben 87 Miles 



SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE. 47 

and 4 Furlonges. Now be that here multiplj'ed by 360 sithes ; and 
than thei ben 31,500 Myles, every of 8 Furlonges, aftre Myles of 
cure Contree. So moche bathe the Erthe in roundnesse, and of 
heghte enviroun, aftre myn opynyoun and myn undirstondynge. 

NOTES ON EXTRACT FROM MANDEVILLE. 

Paea. 1. Ne. The duplication of the negative, common to the Greek and the 
Anglo-Saxon, is avoided in the Latin and the modern English. We find, thus, in 
A.-S. : ne geseoh naefre nan niann God: literally, no man never saw not God. — 
May, is able, A. -S. magan. — Sterre, star, A.-S. .sJeorra. — Clepeii, call ; A.-S. 
clepan, cleopan, clipian, to call, to name. Clept, also, y-clept is the past part. — 
Seen, plu. of See. See n. P. P. 39. — Him, it. The A.-S. formed the dat. masc. 
and neut. of the 3 pers. pron. alike in hiin. — Right, just. — Here, her. See n. P. 
P. 55. The second here is from A.-S. her, here. — Avys, advice, direction ; Fr. avis, 
Lat. ad-vi sum, frova ad and videre. — Don, plu. of do. See n. P. P. 39. — Tlie 
parties, those parts, the being old form of demonstrative adj. — Hem, old. dat. 
plu. of 3 pers. pron. — Wei, spelled also well, both in A.-S. and in early English. 
It may be difficult to account for all the apparent anomalies in the orthography of 
words ending in the sound of I ; but there are three principles which are applicable 
respectively to different classes of these words. First, the form of the word in the 
language from which it is transferred into the English may have governed. Thus 
ball, cell, null. Secondly, the consonant was doubled as a mere orthographic expe- 
dient to show that the preceding vowel had its short sound. Thirdly, the English 
word m.ay, as usually, have followed the inflected form, as A.-S. nom. al, gen. masc. 
alles, by the general rule that adjectives ending in a single consonant after a short 
vowel double the consonant in the indefinite declension. But in A.-S. we find both 
spellings; as al, all ; fid, full ; ivel, well; and also in early English, even by the 
same author, as is evidenced in this selection from Mandeville. So late as the time 
of the King James version we find both forms. 

Para. 2. Perceyve. All derivatives in Engli.sh from the Lat. stem rMp-, take, as 
conceive, deceive, receive, take the ( or y after the e to denote that the e has its long 
sound. The i in these words as in either, neither, should not be regarded as repre- 
senting a proper sound of its own. — O, one. This shortened form of the numeral 
was very common in early English. — Sotyle, subtle; Lat. subtilis, Portuguese 
sobtil, sotil, Ttal. sottile. Wycliffe has, 2 Cor. xii. 16, sutel ; Chaucer, ver. 1,056, sotel, 
but Q12, sub t illy. — ^i^i S'^^- See § 25. — Aljoven, above; A.-S. abufan, prep, 
from an (on), be, and ufan, up, above. 

Para. 3. That, what. See P. P. 43. — Braban, Brabant. — Astrolabre, an 
instrument for taking the position of the stars. Gr. acTTpoXajSos. A jjreposition 
seems to be omitted. — Forthere, further, compar. of forth. There is here a 
double comparative. — Almayne, Germany; Fr. Allmayne. — Bewme, Bo- 
hemia, Ger. Boehmen. But Bohemia proper does not extend beyond 51° of north 
latitude. — Heghte, bight; A.-S. helith and hihth. — Certeyii, certain; Fr. 
certain, Lat. certus, from v. rerno, to try, to judge. The stem-elements cr (kr) cor- 
respond here to the Teutonic tr in try, trust, true. Of. Lat. grad-ior ,Ting. tread; Lat. 
cir-culus, A.-S. trendel, a circle ; Lat. cruciari, A.-S. treg-ian, to torment ; Gr. 
SoLKpv, Lat. lacryma, A.-S. tear ; Lat. acer, A.-S. teart, tart ; Lat. lacerare, A.-S. ter- 
an, to t«ar. The digraph at in the modern form of the word represents the short 
e sound as heard in met, as in mountain, again, etc. — Mesured, measured. The 
a is orthographic merely. — A5en, against, opposite ; also, again ; A.-S. ngen, from 



48 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

an (on), and got, moreover — Totlier, contraction of the other. — Tho, those. — 
Meetreii, move. See P. P. 76. 

Paea. 4. Egalle, equal, Fr. k^al, Lat. ceqiialis. — Mocliel, much, A.-S. mucel, 
nvycel. The A.-S. c, here as elsewhere in many words, has passed into the ch. — 
Foiinden, seen, plu. forms. See n. P. P. S9. — Fer, far, A.-S. /eo?-. —Mo, 
more. See P. P. 294. 

Para. .5. Alle the roundnesse, the entire circle. — 5**^' ^^^' P^"^- §25. — 
Be forn, before. The n is sign of inflection. — Halfoiidelle, semi-circumfer- 
ence, for half-rondelle. 

Para. 6. Saf , save, 0. Pr. sauv and sauf. With final e the/element would regu- 
larly become phthongal. See § 19. 

Para. 7. Holt, holds. The A.-S. 3 pers. sing, of healdan, to hold, was hylt, also 
heall, and lielt. — Condiiyt, Old Fr. conduicte ,'^lod.. Fr. conduile, guidance. The 
last syllable was originally accented; hence the i or y. — Als, as; A -S. ael, sig- 
nified both all and else, other. All and other are cloisely joined in thought ; i, of the 
first person, the speaker, and the other, make up the all; in Greek eywand aAAos are 
the two coordinates in thought, which together make up the oAos. Thus the pro- 
vincial saying : I can walk as well as the other, meaning, as well as any one of all 
the world. Our conj. as, Ger. als, is derivative from this stem denoting other, else. 
It comes naturally to be the sign of comparison, as it mark.s the object of thought 
which follows as the other, the coordinate in respect to the object which precedes. 
The progress of language, ever struggling on to keep pace with the discriminations 
in thought, changes the forms of the original word — at first iu the less unstable or 
essential elements, as the vowels, then in the consonants exchanged first for others 
most nearly akin — and sets apart these divers forms for the respective special uses of 
thought. Form-words, as prepositions and conjunctions as well as auxiliaries, were, 
for the most part, originally object- words or notion-words. 

Paka. 8. Streglite, strictly, exactly ; A.-S. slrec can, to stretch, past part, ge- 
streht, streht. — D-wellyn. Cf. dwellen, just above. — Here, their. See Para. 1. — 
ApiJOSitees, opposites. French form of part. — Habitables or treyassables. 
These are Fr. plu. forms. Trepassable, that can be passed across, navigable ; here as 
opposed to habitables. Fr. trepasser, from Lat. trans aud passare , originally meaning 
to pass across, but in later u.se restricted to the meaning, to die, that is, to pass across 
the boundary of life. — Wytetlie, know ye well. The A.-S. imper. was in th, 
when the noun was omitted. — Tliat I may parceyve and comprelieiide, 
which I am able to perceive and comprehend. 

Para. 9. Prestre Joliii, priest (presbyter) John, a mythical chief first appear- 
ing to history in the 11th century, said to have been converted to Christianity by 
the spirit of a departed saint, Mandeville makes him Emperor of India. He has 
been regarded by some as a Tartar chief, by others as a Nestorian prince. — Bef orii, 
before, A.-S. beforan, compounded of 6e and for-an. The n indicates the inflectional 
ending as following the prep. be. — Tliat tliat. The second that seems to be used 
in the sense of a.'?, perhaps since. — Myddc.'i, midst, old A.-S. gen. oimidde, middle, 
from prep. OTf'rf, among, with. For final Mn i/iidst, see § 88. — Piglite, fixed, 
lat.figere. — Psaiitre, psalter ; Fr. psautier, Lat. psalterimn. 

Para. 10. Parteii, depart. — For to go. The prep./or here governs the inf. toga. 
This form of expression, now obsolete, was once common, and grammatically legit- 
imate. —Thidre, thither, A.-S. thider. — Confynyes, confines, coterminous 
places. — SliperficiaJitie, surface. The Lat. superficies {super fades) is the 
origin of the Fr. surface. The e is inflectional. When it was dropped out in spell- 
ing, the ■(", by rule, became y. See § 23. — Foreyn, foreign ; 'Sx.forain, liSkt.fora- 
neus. Chaucer wrote forain and foraine ; Spen.ser, F. Q. bk. v. c. 9, st. 37, forrain; 
James version, Eph. ii. 19, forreincrs, where Tyudale and Cranmer both have /ur- 



SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE. 49 

einers. The g and the i in onr foreign are both foreign to the word, and were both 
introduced probably to show the long quantity of the e, which formerly was in an 
accented syllable. — Ccwnted, recounted ; Fr. cont.er, Lat. coot ^^Kiare, to think to- 
gether or in connection. Lat. C077i put um is the origin of the Ital. conto, Fr. co}?7pte, 
andEng. count, in legal use, meaning a story, a declaration. — Forto go serclie. 
For, a prep, governing to go, as above. — Sei'clie, search, Old Fr. cercker, Mod. Fr. 
chercher, Lat. circare. This word exemplifies in its history and use several very com- 
mon principles of our language. Etymologically it shows how s and c interchanged 
to denote the sibilant element ; how the vowels interchange when preceding r ; how 
the aphthongal guttural perfect consonant represented by k, and also by c before a, 
o, and u, has changed to the labial imperfect consonant, or fricative c/i ; how the 
inllectional ending drops away in the progress of speech. Grammatically, the word 
shows that the primitive Eng. inf. was without the auxiliary or sign to; as is still 
the case in some expressions, as " bid him go ; " " have him do it ; " " heard them 
sai/,'" and the like ; and that the infinitive is governed by another verb. 

Para. 11. Seysons, seasons. Seen. P. P. 1. — I/angage, language; spelled like- 
wise without the u by Wycliffe and Cranmer, Acts ii. 6. — Plowglie, a plow, 
Dan. ploug uniplov, from ploeje, to plow. The stem of this word is not found in 
A.-S., in which language the stem er, corresponding to Lat. ar in arare appeared 
in many forms ; as v. er ian, to ear, to till, or plow, as in Eng. " the oxen that ear 
the ground shall eat, etc." Isa. xxx. 24 ; n. eard, whence our earth, meaning that 
which is eared or tilled; adj. eann, toilsome, poor, miserable ; a derivation which 
suggests that the condition of the A.-S. plowman was toilsome and abject. On 
the contrary, in Sans, this root came to denote the noble, the elevated, suggesting 
that the condition of the plowman, the cultivator, was comparatively elevated. It 
is curious to observe, in studying out the history of the words denoting this emplo3'- 
ment of plowing and tilling, that the French term is laborer, implying a similar 
connection to that which existed in the minds of the framers of the A.-S. tongue. 
While this word in the French denotes properly plowing, the Lat. , from which it 
comes, denotes rather the condition than the original employment or activity, which 
meaning is retained in the Fr. adj. Inborieux. Still further, Grimm's Law, § 35, 
conducts us from Low German stem pi to b and / as the corresponding elements in 
Lat., which are the stem elements of labor, but transposed. Once more, the inquiry 
arises : What, in the condition of the people, or the application of the terms, dis- 
placed the stem er, and introduced the Danish stem pi? — Marclies, boundaries, 
territories. See n. P. P. 126. — KjioTvleclie, acquaintance, as knowledge is used 
to denote things or persons known. — Tlieiis, thence, old ge7i. form, § 42. 

Para. 12. Peynefnl,literally worsening, wearing, impairing. A La,t. stem, pejor, 
worse, Old Fr. peire, and Teut. suffix. The word occurs in our early writers, not 
with the prefixed prep, in, as we have it now in our impair, but with ad, as in 
npaire,3,nd apeire, from. Lat. ad and pe/orare, through the Old French, appeirer. 
Thus, Chaucer, C. T. ver. 3149 : — 

" It is a sinne, and eke a gret folie 
To npeiren any man, or him defame." 

Also Wycliffe: "We have apeired no man," 2 Cor. vii. 2. Cf. " That in nothing 
ye suffer peirement of us," Ibid. ver. 9. 

Para. 13. May not be, cannot be. — Upon lesse, unless, formerly written 
onless, and onles. Tooke derives this conj, from the A.-S. v. onlesan, to un- 
loose. But this phrase of Mandeville shows the true origin of the word, upon lesse 
than being the full form of expression with the adj. followed by the comparative 
than. The meaning is: That may not be, is not possible on less condition than 
this, that we can fall toward heaven from the earth where we are. — Tliat men 
4 



50 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

dwelle, in which men dwell. — That is used as relative with omission of the prep, 
as above, that he was comen home^ unless, what seems preferable, we change the 
punctuation by striking out the comma before that, and govern the clause by the 
prep, afire. — Outlier, either. It would seem that the use of this disjunctive 
in the sense of either, that is, as the first of the two correlatives either — or, 
being more infrequent than that of the simple disjunctive or, the old full form has 
been retained for this first use, while the contracted form oris used for the latter 
more frequent use. — Righte, upright, erect. — Semeth liem, seems to them ; 
hem being old dat. without prep, and immediately depending on the verb. — Tro, 
from. — Resoun, reason. The !« was inserted to show the long sound of the o, 
the accent which was on this syllable in the Lat. ration is being retained in the 
Fr., although the inflectional syllable was elided. 

Para. 14. Alle be it, albeit, be it all, grant it all be ; be being in the potential 
mood of the concessive form. — Na tlie les, not the less, nevertheless ; A.-S. nathe- 
les, from na, not, the, old ablative of demonstrative pron., and laes, less. In such 
expressions a.s, " the farther he goes, the worse he fares," the is to be regarded as not 
the def. article limiting /ari/ier and worse or their nouns, but as the relative and 
demonstrative, equiv. to Lat. quo — eo, as " homines quo plura habent, eo cupiunt 
ampliora," " the more men have, the more they crave." See n. P. P. 62. — Cowde 
(=r coude), could. — Keclye, bring back, from Fr. reduir, Lat. re due ere. — Perfite- 
ly, perfectly, exactly ; Old Fr. adj. parfeit, and parfit, perfect, Mod. Fr. parfait. — • 
Be aventure, peradventure, by adventure, by chance. — Happ, hap. A short 
vowel in a final syllable doubled the following consonant, § 18 (2). Holt, holds. 
A.-S. 3 pers. sing, of heold an, to hold, was hylt, healt, and also helt. See Para. 7. 
— Here, their. 

Para. 15. Kepreve, reprove, censure. See in glossary, preve. — A gret com- 
pas, a large circle. — Devised, divided; 'Fr. diviser, Lat. dividere, to divide. — 
In, into ; A.-S. in, in, and into, Uke Lat. — Departed, separated, divided, Fr. de- 
partir, Lat. de and pariiri. Depart was once used transitively, as "That be depart 
with me the heritage." Wycliffe, Luke xii. 13. 

Para. 16. Liat, let ; A.-S. laet, from laet an, to let, permit. — Auctoures, au- 
thors ; Lat. auctores ; the second u is mere orthographic expedient, as in resoun 
above. — Tlie, those, they. — Sitlies, times, A.-S. sith, time, whence sithens, con- 
tracted into our modern since. — Every, every one. 



4. GEOFFREY CHAUCER, 1328-1400. 

Geoffrey Chaucer, it is supposed, was bom in London in 1328. It is inferred 
from a passage in his Testament of Love, that he was educated at Cambridge. Hav- 
ing been introduced in some way into court life, he was recognized in 1367 in a 
patent of King Edward Third, issued in the forty-first year of that monarch's reign, 
and granting him an annuity of twenty marks, as valettus nosier, our valet or yeo- 
man ; and was employed subsequently in many honorable services, particularly as a 
royal envoy and diplomatist. He married Philippa de Rouet, one of the maids of 
honor to the Queen, and by this marriage became allied to the renowned John of 
Gaunt (Ghent), who married Philippa's sister, Mrs. Catharine Swynborn, as his third 
wife. With this famous leader he sympathized in the defense of the opinions of 
Wycliffe. In the ti-oubles of the times he lost office and property, escaping himself 
to France, where, and in Denmark, he wrote some of his books. Retiring from pub- 
lic life, he gave him.self up to literary labors, first at Woodstock, and afterwards, on 
the death of John of Lancaster, in 1399, at Donnington Castle. He died Oct. 25th, 
1400, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. 



• GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 51 

Chaucer's earliest important work was a translation into English iambic yerse of 
four feet in successive rhyme, of the Roman de la Rose, a poem written in similar 
Terse in French by Guillaume de Lorris about 1250. His other leading poems are 
Troilus and Cressida, the House of Fame, the Death of Blanch the Duchess, the 
Parliament of Fowls, the Legend of Good Women, and the Canterbury Tales, one of 
the last and greatest of his works. His prose works are his Translation of Boethius, 
de ConsolaLione Philosophix, a Treatise on the Astrolabe addressed to his son Lowis, 
the Testament of LoTe, and two of the Canterbury Tales. 

The selection here given is printed from Mr. Tyrwhitt's edition of the Canterbury 
Tales, published at Oxford in 1798. 

In composing the Canterbury Tales, Chaucer undoubtedly had in his mind the 
Decameron of Boccaccio. He had visited Italy and become more or less acquainted 
with Italian literature, at that time the most flourishing in Europe. If not favored 
with the personal society of Boccaccio (1313-1375) or Petrarch (1304-1374), he must 
have been brought under the influence of their writings, then the pride and the en- 
tertainment of the literary world. The Decameron consists of one hundred tales, 
said to have been told on ten successive days by seven ladies and three young gen- 
tlemen, who had fled to a retreat in the covmtry from the ravages of a deadly pesti- 
lence which raged in Florence in 1348. Chaucer, in his Canterbviry Tales, improves 
on this idea of Boccaccio, in giving somewhat of a dramatic character to his tales. 
He supposes a pilgrimage to the famous shrine of Thomas 4 Becket in Canterbury. 
Twenty-nine persons from the company of pilgrims who meet at the Tabard inn, 
Southwark, to beguile the tediousness of their journey, agree to tell each a story, 
in going and also in returning. The Prologue in 861 verses introduces the 
characters, with descriptions of each ; and the several tales were to be connected 
throughout by suitable narrative. In the execution of his plan, the poet has left 
only twenty-four tales, not one for each in the journey to Canterbury, with none 
for the journey back. The first is the Knightes Tale, which seems to have been 
originally composed as a separate work. It is the longest of all, consisting of 2,350 
iambic pentameter verses. It is founded on a story by Boccaccio. It is, perhaps, 
the best for study, bearing the characteristics of Chaucer's genius and poetic skiU 
in their highest degree, and is free from the exceptionable features of some of the 
other tales. The Clerkes Tale, which is here given, is about half as long as the 
Knightes Tale. In the prologue it is said that the tale was leafned of Petrarch, 
who, it seems, took it from the Decameron. It is the tenth tale of the tenth day in 
the Decameron. Petrarch speaks of the story as if an old one ; but whence Boccac- 
cio obtained it is unknown. 

THE CLERKES TALE. 

1. Ther Is right at the West side of Itaille 
Doun at the role of Vesukis the cold, 

A lusty plain, habundant of vitaille, 

Ther many a toun and tour thou maist behold, 

That founded were in time of fathers old, 

And many another delitable sighte, 

And Saluces this noble contree highte. 

2. A markis whilom lord was of that lond, 
As were his worthy elders him before, 
And obeysant, ay redy to his bond. 



52 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Were all his lieges, bothe lesse and more : 
Thus in deUt he liveth, and hath don yore, 
Beloved and drad, thurgh favour of fortune, 
Both of his lordes, and of his commune. 

3. Therwith he was, to speken of linage, 
The gentilest yborne of Lumbardie, 

A faire person, and strong, and yong of age. 
And fhl of honour and of curtesie : 
Discret ynough, his contree for to gie, 
Sauf in som thinges that he was to blame, 
And Walter was this yonge lordes name. 

4. I blame him thus, that he considered nought 
In time coming what might him betide, 
But on his lust present was all his thought, 
And for to hauke and hunt on every side : 
Wei neigh all other cures let he slide, 

And eke he n'old (and that was worst of all) 
Wedden no wif for ought that might befall. 

5. Only that point his peple bare so sore, 
That flockmel on a day to him they went. 
And on of hem, that wisest was of lore, 
(Or elles that the lord wold best assent 
That he shuld tell him what the peple ment, 
Or elles coud he well shew swiche matere) 
He to the markis said as ye shuli here. 

6. O noble markis, your humanitee 
Assureth us and yeveth us hardinesse. 
As oft as time is of necessitee, 

That we to you mow tell our hevinesse : 
Accepteth, lord, than of your gentillesse. 
That we with pitous herte unto you plaine. 
And let your eres nat my vois disdaine. 

7. Al have I not to don in this matere 
More than another man hath in this place, 
Yet for as moch as ye, my lord so dere, 
Han alway shewed me favour and grace, 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 63 

I dare the better aske of you a space 
Of audience, to sliewen our request, 
And ye, my lord, to don right as you lest. 

8. For certes, loi-d, so wel us liketh you 

And all your werke, and ever have don, that we 

Ne couden not ourself devisen how 

We mighten live in more felicitee : 

Save o thing, lord, if it your wille be, 

That for to be a wedded man you lest. 

Than were your peple in soverain hertes rest. 

9. Boweth your nekke under the blisful yok 
Of soveraintee, and not of servise. 

Which that men clepen spousaile or wedlok : 
And thinketh, lord, among your thoughtes wise, 
How that our dayes passe in sondry wise ; 
For though we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ride, 
Ay fleth the time, it wol no man abide. 

10. And though your grene youthe flour e as yet, 
In crepeth age alway as still as ston, 

And deth manaseth every age, and smit 
In eche estat, for ther escapeth non : 
And al so certain, as we knowe eche on 
That we shul die, as uncertain we all 
Ben of that day whan deth shal on us fall. 

11. Accepteth than of us the trewe entent, 
That never yet refuseden your best. 
And we wol, lord, if that ye wol assent, 
Chese you a wife in short time at the mest, 
Borne of the gentillest and of the best 

Of all this lond, so that it oughte seme 
Honour to God and you, as we can deme. 

12. Deliver us out of all this besy drede. 
And take a wif, for highe Goddes sake : 
For if it so befell, as God forbede, 

That thurgh your deth your linage shulde slake, 
And that a sti'ano-e successour shuld take 



REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Your heritage, o ! wo were us on live : 
Wherefore we pray you hastily to wive. 

13. Hir meke praiere and hir pitous chere 
Made the markis for to han pitee. 

Ye wol, quod he, min owen peple dere, 
To that I never er thought constrainen me. 
I me rejoyced of my libertee, 
That selden time is found in mariage ; 
Ther I was free, I moste ben in servage. 

14. But natheles I see your trewe entent, 

And trust upon your wit, and have don ay ; 

Wherfore of my free will I wol assent 

To wedden me, as sone as ever I may. 

But ther as ye han profred me to-day 

To ehesen me a wif, I you relese 

That chois, and pray you of that profer cese. 

15. For God it wot, that children often ben 
Unlike hir worthy eldres hem before, 
Bountee eometh al of God, not of the stren, 
Of which they ben ygendred and ybore : 

I trust in Goddes bountee, and therfore 
My mariage, and min estat, and rest 
I him betake, he may ^on as him lest. 

16. Let me alone in chesing of my wif, 
That charge upon my bak I wol endure : 
But I you pray, and charge upon your lif. 
That what wif that I take, ye me assure 

To worship hire while that hire lif may dure, 
In word and werk both here and elles where, 
As she an emperoures doughter were. 

17. And forthermore this shuln ye swere, that ye 
Again my chois shul never grutch ne strive. 
For sith I shal forgo my libertee 

At your request, as ever mote I thrive, 
Ther as min herte is set, ther wol I wive : 
And but ye wol assent in swiche manere, 
I pray you speke no more of this matere. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 55 

18. With hertly will they sworen and assenten 
To all this thing, ther saide not o wight nay : 
Beseching him of grace, or that they wenten, 
That he wold granten hem a certain day 

Of his spousaile, as sone as ever he may, 
For yet alway the peple somwhat dred, 
Lest that this markis wolde no wif wed. 

19. He granted hem a day, swiche as him lest, 
On which he wold be wedded sikerly. 
And said he did all this at hir request ; 
And they with humble herte ful buxumly 
Kneling upon hir knees ful reverently 
Him thonken all, and thus they han an end 
Of hir entente, and home agen they wend. 

20. And hereupon he to his officeres 
Commandeth for the feste to purvay. 
And to his privee knightes and squieres 
Swiche charge he yave, as him list on hem lay : 
And they to his commandement obey, 

And eche of hem doth al his diligence 
To do unto the feste al reverence. 

PAKS SECUNDA. 

21. Nought fer fro thilke paleis honourable, 
Wher as this markis shope his mariage, 
Ther stood a thorpe, of sighte delitable, 
In which that poure folk of that village 
Hadden hir bestes and hir herbergage, 
And of hir labour toke hir sustenance, 
After that the erthe yave hem habundance. 

22. Among this poure folk ther dwelt a man, 
Which that was holden pourest of hem all : 
But highe God somtime senden can 

His grace unto a litel oxes stall : 
Janicola men of that thorpe him call. 
A doughter had he, faire ynough to sight, 
And Grisildis this yonge maiden hight. 



56 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

23. But for to speke of vertuous beautee, 
Than was she on the fairest under sonne : 
Ful pourely yfostred up was she : 

No likerous lust was in hire herte yronne ; 
Wei ofter of the well than of the tonne 
She dranke, and for she wolde vertue plese, 
She knew wel labour, but non idcl ese. 

24. But though this mayden tendre were of age, 
Yet in the bi-est of hire virglnitee 

Ther was enclosed sad and ripe corage : 
And in gret reverence and charitee 
Hire olde poure fader fbstred she : 
A few sheep spinning on the feld she kept, 
She wolde not ben idel til she slept. 

25. And whan she homward came, she wolde bring 
Wortes and other herbes times eft, 

The which she shred and sethe for hire living. 
And made hire bed ful hard, and nothing soft : 
And ay she kept hire fadres lif on loft 
With every obeisance and diligence, 
That child may don to fadres reverence. 

26. Upon Grisilde, this poure creatm-e, 

Ful often slthe this markis sette his eye. 
As he on hunting i^de paraventure : 
And whan it fell that be might hire espie;, 
He not with wanton loking of folic 
His eyen cast on hire, but in sad wise 
Upon hire chere he wold him oft avise, 

27. Commending in his herte hire womanhede, 
And eke hire vertue, passing any wight 
Of so yong age, as wel in chere as dede. 
For though the peple have no gret insight 
In vertue, he considered ful right 

Hire bountee, and disposed that he wold 
Wedde hire only, if ever he wedden shold. 

28. The day of wedding came, but no wight can 
Tellen what woman that it shulde be, 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 67 

For which mervallle wondred many a man, 
And saiden, whan they were In privetee, 
Wol not our lord yet leve his vanitee ? 
Wol he not wedde ? alas, alas the while ! 
Why wol he thus himself and us begile ? 

29. But natheles this markis hath do make 
Of gemmes, sette in gold and in asure, 
Broches and ringes, for Grisildes sake, 
And of hire clothing toke he the mesure 
Of a maiden like unto hire stature. 
And eke of other ornamentes all, 

That unto swiche a wedding shulde fall. 

30. The time of underne of the same day 
Approcheth, that this wedding shulde be. 
And all the paleis put was in array. 

Both halle and chambres, eche in his degree, 
Houses of office stuffed with plentee 
Ther mayst thou see of delnteous vltaille. 
That may be found, as fer as lasteth Itaille. 

31. This real markis richely arralde, 
Lordes and ladies In his compagnie, 
The which unto the feste weren pralde, 
And of his retenue the bachelerle. 
With many a soun of sondry melodic, 
Unto the village, of the which I told. 
In this array the righte way they hold. 

32. Grisllde of this (God wot) ful innocent, 
That for hire shapen was all this array, 

, To fetchen water at a welle is went. 
And cometh home as sone as ever she may. 
For wel she had herd say, that thilke day 
The markis shulde wedde, and, if she might, 
She wolde fayn han seen som of that sight. 

33. She thought, I wol with other maidens stond. 
That ben my felawes, in our dore, and see 
The mai'kisesse, and therto wol I fond 



68 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

To don at home, as sone as it may be, 
The labour which that longeth unto me, 
And than I may at leiser hire behold, 
If she this way unto the castel hold. 

34. And as she wolde over the threswold gon, 
The markis came and gan hire for to call, 
And she set doun hire water-pot anon 
Beside the threswold in an oxes stall, 
And doun upon hire knees she gan to fall. 
And with sad countenance kneleth still, 
Til she had herd what was the lordes will. 

35. This thoughtful markis spake unto this maid 
Ful soberly, and said in this manere : 
Wher is your fader, Grisildis ? he said. 
And she with reverence in humble chere 
Answered, lord, he is al redy here. 

And in she goth withouten lenger lette, 
And to the markis she hire fader fette. 

36. He by the bond than toke this poure man, 
And saide thus, whan he him had aside : 
Janicola, I neither may ne can 

Lenger the plesance of min herte hide, 
If that thou vouchesauf, what so betide, 
Thy doughter wol I take or that I wend 
As for my wif, unto hire lives end. 

37. Thou lovest me, that wot I wel certain, 
And art my faithful liegeman ybore. 
And all that liketh me, I dare wel sain 
It liketh thee, and specially therfore 

Tell me that point, that I have said before, 
If that thou wolt unto this purpos drawe. 
To taken me as for thy son in lawe. 

38. This soden cas this man astoned so. 
That red he wex, abaist, and al quaking ' 
He stood, unnethes said he wordes mo. 
But only thus ; Lord, quod he, my willing 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 69 

Is as ye wol, ne agelns your liking 
I wol no thing, min owen lord so dere, 
Eigbt as you list, governeth this matere. 

39. Than wol I, quod this markis softely, 
That in thy chambre, I, and thou, and she, 
Have a collation, and wost thou why ? 
For I wol ask hire, if it hire wille be 

To be my wif, and reule hire after me : 
And all this shall be don in thy presence, 
I wol not speke out of thin audience. 

40. And in the chambre, while they were aboute 
The tretee, which as ye shul after here, 
The peple came into the hous withoute, 
And wondred hem, in how honest manere 
Ententifly she kept hire fader dere : 

But utterly Grisildls wonder might, 
For never erst ne saw she swiche a sight. 

41. No wonder is though that she be astoned, 
To see so gret a gest come in that place, 
She never was to non swiche gestes woned, 
For which she loked with ful pale face. 
But shortly forth this matere for to chace, 
Thise arn the wordes that the markis said 
To this benigne, veray, faithful maid. 

42. Grisilde, he said, ye shuln wel understond, 
It liketh to your fader and to me, 

That I you wedde, and eke it may so stond 
As I suppose, ye wol that it so be : 
But thise demaundes aske I first (quod he) 
That sin it shal be don in hasty wise, 
Wol ye assent, or elles you avise ? 

43. I say this, be ye redy with good herte 
To all my lust, and that I freely may 

As me best thinketh do you laugh or smerte, 
And never ye to grutchen, night ne day, 
And eke whan I say ya, ye say not nay, 



60 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Neither by word, ne frouning countenance ? 
Swere this, and here I swere our alliance. 

44. Wondring upon this thing, quaking for drede, 
She saide ; Lord, indigne and unworthy 

Am I, to thilke honour, that ye me bede, 
But as ye wol yourself, right so wol I : 
And here I swere, that never willingly 
In werk, ne thought, I n'ill you disobeie 
For to be ded, though me were loth to deie. 

45. This is ynough, Grisilde min, quod he. 
And forth he goth with a ful sobre chere, 
Out at the dore, and after than came she, 
And to the peple he said in this manere : 
This is my wif, quod he, that stondeth here. 
Honoureth her, and loveth hire, I pray, 
Who so me loveth, ther n'is no more to say. 

46. And for that nothing of hire olde gere 
She shulde bring into his hous, he bad 
That women shuld despoilen hire right there, 
Of which thise ladies weren nothing glad 
To handle hire clothes wherin she was clad : 
But natheless this maiden bright of hew 
Fro foot to hed they clothed han all new. 

47. Hire heres han they kempt, that lay untressed, 
Ful rudely, and with her fingres smal 

A coroune on hire hed they han ydressed, 
And sette hire ful of nouches gret and smal : 
Of hire array what shuld I make a tale ? 
Unneth the peple hire knew for hire fairnesse, 
Whan she transmewed was in swiche richesse. 

48. This markis hath hire spoused with a ring 
Brought for the same cause, and than hire sette 
Upon an hors snow-white, and wel ambling, 
And to his paleis, or he lenger lette, 

(With joyful peple, that hire lad and raette) 
Conveyed hire, and thus the day they spende 
In revel, til the sonne gan descende. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 61 

49. And shortly forth this tale for to chace, 
I say, that to this newe markisesse 

God hath swiche favour sent hire of his grace, 
That it ne semeth not by likelinesse 
That she was borne and fed in rudenesse, 
As in a cote, or in an oxes stall, 
But nourished in an emperoures hall. 

50. To every -vvight she waxen is so dere, 

And worshipful, that folk ther she was bore, 
And fro hire birthe knew hire yere by yere, 
Unnethes trowed they, but dorst han swore, 
That to Janicle, of which I spake before, 
She doughter n'as, for as by conjecture 
Hem thoughte she was another creature. 

51. For though that ever vertuous was she. 
She was encresed in swiche excellence 
Of thewes good, yset in high bountee, 
And so discrete, and faire of eloquence, 
So benigne, and so digne of reverence, 
And coude so the peples herte embrace, 
That eche hire loveth that loketh on hire face. 

52. Not only of Saluces in the toun 
Published was the bountee of hire name. 
But eke beside in many a regioun, 

If on salth wel, another saith the same : 
So spredeth of hire hie bountee the same. 
That men and women, yong as wel as old, 
Gon to Saluces upon hire to behold. 

53. Thus "Walter lowly, nay but really. 
Wedded with fortunat honestetee. 
In Goddes pees liveth ful esily 

At home, and grace ynough outward had he : 
And for he saw that under low degree 
Was honest vertue hid, the peple him held 
A prudent man, and that is seen ful seld. 

54. Not only this Grisildis thurgh hire wit 
Coude all the fete of wifly homlinesse, 



62 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

But eke whan that the cas required it, 
The comune profit coude she redresse : 
Ther n'as discord, rancour, ne hevinesse 
In all the lond, that she ne coude appese, 
And wisely bring hem all in hertes ese. 

55. Though that hire husbond absent were or non, 
If gentilmen, or other of that contree 

Were wroth, she wolde bringen hem at on, 

So wise and ripe wordes hadde she, 

And jugement of so gret equitee, 

That she from heven sent was, as men wend, 

Peple to save, and every wrong to amend. 

56. Not longe time after that this Grisilde 
Was wedded, she a doughter hath ybore, 
All had hire lever ban borne a knave child : 
Glad was the markis and his folk therfore, 
For though a maiden childe come all before, 
She may unto a knave child atteine 

By likelyhed, sin she n'is not barreine. 

PARS TERTIA. 

57. Ther fell, as it befalleth times mo. 

Whan that this childe had souked but a throwe, 
This markis in his herte longed so 
To tempt his wif, hire sadnesse for to knowe, 
That he ne might out of his herte throwe 
This marveillous desir his wif to assay, 
Needles, God wot, he thought hire to affray. 

58. He had assaied hire ynough before. 
And found hire ever good, what nedeth it 
Hire for to tempt, and alway more and more ? 
Though som men praise it for a subtil wit, 
But as for me, I say that evil it sit 

To assay a wif whan that it is no nede. 
And putten hire in anguish and in drede. 

59. For which this markis wrought in this manere ; 
He came a-night alone ther as she lay 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 63 

With Sterne face, and with ful trouble chere, 
And sayde thus ; Grisilde, (quod he) that day 
That I you toke out of your poure array, 
And put you in estat of high noblesse, 
Ye han it not forgotten, as I gesse. 

60. I say, Grisilde, this present dignitee. 

In which that I have put you, as I trow, 
Maketh you not forgetful for to be 
That I you toke in poure estat ful low. 
For only wele ye mote yourselven know. 
Take hede of every word that I you say, 
Ther is no wight that hereth it but we tway. 

61. Ye wote yourself wel how that ye came here 
Into this hous, it is not long ago. 

And though to me ye be right lefe and dere, 
Unto my gentils ye be nothing so : 
They say, to hem it is gret shame and wo 
For to be suggetes, and ben in servage 
To thee, that borne art of a smal linage. 

62. And namely sin thy doughter was ybore, 
Thise wordes han they spoken douteles, 
But I desire, as I have don before. 

To live my lif with hem in rest and pees : 
I may not in this cas be reccheles ; 
I mote do with thy doughter for the best, 
Not as I Avoid, but as my gentils lest. 

63. And yet, God wote, this is ful loth to me : 
But natheles withouten youre weting 

I wol nought do, but thus wol I (quod he) 
That ye to me assenten in this thing. 
Shew now youre patience in youre werking, 
That ye me hight and swore in youre village 
The day that maked was our mariage. 

64.. Whan she had herd all this, she not ameved 
Neyther in word, in chere, ne countenance, 
(For as it semed, she was not agreved) 



64 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

She sayde ; Lord, all lith in your plesance, 
My child and I, with hertely obeisance 
Ben youres all, and ye may save or spill, 
Your owen thing : werketh after your will. 

65. Ther may no thing, so God my soule save, 
Like unto you, that may displesen me : 
Ne I desire nothing for to have, 

Ne drede for to lese, sauf only ye : 
This will is in myn herte, and ay shal be, 
No length of time, or deth may this deface, 
Ne change my corage to an other place. 

66. Glad was this markis for hire answering, 
But yet he feined as he were not so, 

Al drery was his chere and his loking, 
Whan that he shuld out of the chambre go. 
Sone after this, a furlong way or two, 
He prively hath told all his entent 
Unto a man, and to his wif him sent. 

67. A maner sergeant was this prive man, 
The which he faithful often founden had 

In thinges gret, and eke swiche folk wel can 
Don execution on thinges bad : 
The lord knew wel, that he him loved and drad. 
And whan this sergeant wist his lordes will, 
Into the chambre he stalked him ful still. 

68. Madame, he sayd, ye mote foryeve it me, 
Though I do thing, to which I am constreined : 
Ye ben so wise, that right wel knowen ye. 
That lordes hestes may not ben yfeined, 
They may wel be bewailed and complained. 
But men mote nedes to hir lust obey. 

And so wol I, ther n'is no more to say. 

69. This child I am commanded for to take. 

And spake no more, but out the child he hent 

Despitously, and gan a chere to make, 

As though he wold have slain it, or he went. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 65 

Grisildis most al suffer and al consent : 
And as a lambe, she sitteth meke and still, 
And let this cruel sergeant do his will. 

70. Suspecious was the diffame of this man, 
Suspect his face, suspect his word also, 
Suspect the time in which he this began : 
Alas ! hire doughter, that she loved so. 
She wende he wold han slaien it right tho. 
But natheles she neither Avept ne siked, 
Conforming hire to that the markis liked. 

71. But at the last to speken she began, 
And mekely she to the sergeant praid 
(So as he was a worthy gentil man) 

That she might kisse hire child, or that it deid : 
And in hire barme this litel child she leid, 
With ful sad face, and gan the child to blisse, 
And lulled it, and after gan it kisse. 

72. And thus she sayd in hire benigne vois . 
Farewel, my child, I shal thee never see. 
But sin I have thee marked with the crois, 
Of thilke fader yblessed mote thou be, 
That for us died upon a crois of tree : 
Thy soule, litel child, I him betake. 

For this night shalt thou dien for my sake. 

73. I trow that to a norice in this cas 

It had ben hard this routhe for to see : 
Wei might a moder than han cried alas, 
But natheles so sad stedfast was she. 
That she endured all adversitee, 
And to the sergeant mekely she sayde, 
Have here agen your litel yonge mayde. 

74. Goth now (quod she) and doth my lordes best : 
And o thing wold I pray you of your grace. 
But if my lord forbade you at the lest, 
Burieth this litel body in som place, 

That bestes ne no briddes it to-race. 
5 



66 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

But he no word to that purpos wold say, 
But toke the child and went upon his way. 

75. This sergeant came unto his lord again, 
And of Grisildes wordes and hire chere 

He told him point for point, in short and plain, 
And him presented with his doughter dere. 
Somwhat this lord hath routhe in his manere. 
But natheles his purpos held he still. 
As lordes don, whan they wol have hir will, 

76. And bad this sergeant that he prively 
Shulde this child ful softe wind and wrappe. 
With alle circumstances tendrely. 

And carry it in a cofre, or in a lappe ; 
— But upon peine his hed of for to swappe 
That no man shulde know of his entent, 
Ne whens he came, ne whider that he went ; 

77. But at Boloigne, unto his suster dere, 
That thilke time of Panik was countesse, 
He shuld it take, and shew hire this matere, 
Beseching hire to don hii'e besinesse 

This child to fostren in all gentillesse, 

And wlios child that it was he bade hire hide 

From every wight, for ought that may betide. 

78. This sergeant goth, and hath fulfilde this thing. 
But to this marquis now retorne we ; 
For now goth he ful fast imagining, 
If by his wives chere he mighte see. 
Or by hire wordes apperceive, that she 
Were changed, but he never could hire finde. 
But ever in on ylike sad and kinde. 

79. As glad, as humble, as besy in service 
And eke in love, as she was wont to be. 
Was she to him, in every maner wise ; 
Ne of hire doughter not a word spake she : 
Non accident for non adversitee 
Was seen in hire, ne never hire doughters name 
Ne nevened she, for ernest ne for game. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 67 



PARS QUARTA. 



80. In this estat ther passed ben foure yere 
Er she with childe was, but, as God wold, 
A knave childe she bare by this Waltere 
Ful gracious, and fair for to behold : 
And whan that folk it to his fader told, 
Not only he, but all his contree mery 

Was for this childe, and God they thonke and hery. 

81. Whan it was two yere old, and from the brest 
Departed of his norice, on a day 

This markis caughte yet another lest 
To tempte his wif yet ofter, if he may. 
O ! nedeles was she tempted in assay. 
But wedded men ne connen no mesure, 
Whan that they finde a patient creature. 

82. Wif, quod this markis, ye han herd or this 
My peple sikely beren our mariage. 

And namely sin my sone yboren is, 
Now is it werse than ever in al our age : 
The murmur sleth myn herte and my corage, 
For to myn eres cometh the vols so smerte, 
That it wel nie destroyed hath myn herte. 

83. Now say they thus, whan Walter is agon, 
Than shal the blood of Janicle succede, 
And ben our lord, for other han we non : 
Swiche wordes sayn my peple, it is no drede. 
Wel ought I of swiche munnur taken hede, 
For certainly I drede al swiche sentence. 
Though they not plainen in myn audience. 

84. I wolde live in pees, if that I might : 
Wherfore I am disposed utterly, 

As I his suster served er by night. 
Right so thinke I to serve him prively. 
This warne I you, that ye not sodenly 
Out of yourself for no wo shuld outraie, 
Beth patient, and therof I you praie. 



68 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

85. I have, quod she, sayd thus and ever shal, 
I wol no thing, ne n'ill no thing certain, 
But as you list : not greveth me at al. 
Though that my doughter and my sone be slain 
At your commandement : that is to sain, 

I have not had no part of children twein, 
But first sikenesse, and after wo and peine. 

86. Ye ben my lord, doth with your owen thing 
Right as you list, asketh no rede of me : 
For as I left at home al my clothing 

Whan I came first to you, right so (quod she) 
Left I my will and al my libertee. 
And toke your clothing : wherfore I you prey, 
Doth your plesance, I wol youre lust obey. 

87. And certes, if I hadde prescience 

Your will to know, er ye your lust me told, 
I wold it do withouten negligence : 
But now I wote your lust, and what ye wold. 
All your plesance ferme and stable I hold, 
For wist I that my deth might do you ese. 
Right gladly wold I dien, you to plese. 

88. Deth may not maken no comparisoun 
Unto your love. And whan this markis say 
The Constance of his wif, he cast adoun 

His eyen two, and wondreth how she may 
In patience suffer al this array : 
And forth he goth with drery contenance, 
But to his herte it was ful gret plesance. 

89. This ugly sergeant in the same wise 
That he hire doughter caughte, right so he 
(Or werse, if men can any werse devise) 
Hath hent hire sone, that ful was of beautee : 
And ever in on so patient was she. 

That she no chere made of hevinesse, 
But kist hire sone and after gan it blesse. 

90. Save this she praied him, if that he might, 
Hire litel sone he wold in erthe grave, 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 69 

His tendre limmes, delicat to sight, 
Fro foules and fro bestes for to save. 
But she non answer of him mighte have, 
He went his way, as him no thing ne rought, 
But to Boloigne he tendrely it brought. 

■91. This mai'kis wondreth ever lenger the more 
Upon hire patience, and if that he 
Ne hadde sothly knowen therbefore, 
That parfitly hire children loved she, 
He wold han wend that of som subtiltee 
And of malice, or for cruel corage. 
That she had sufFred this with sad visage. 

92. But wel he knew, that next himself, certain 
She loved hire children best in every wise. 
But now of women wold I asken fayn. 

If thise assaies mighten not sufHse ; 
What coud a sturdy husbond more devise 
To preve hire wif hood, and hire steadfastnesse, 
And he continuing ever in sturdinesse ? 

93. But ther ben folk of swiche condition, 
That, whan they han a certain purpos take, 
They can not stint of hir intention, 

But, right as they were bounden to a stake, 
They wol not of hir firste purpos slake : 
Right so this niarkis fully hath purposed 
To tempt his wif, as he was first disposed. 

94. He waiteth. If by word or contenance 
That she to him was changed of corage : 
But never coud he finden variance. 

She was ay on In herte and in visage. 
And ay the further that she was in age. 
The more trewe (if that It were possible) 
She was to him In love, and more penlble. 

95. For which it semed thus, that of hem two 
Ther was but o will ; for as Walter lest, 
The same lust was hire plesance also ; 



70 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And God be thanked, all feU for the best. 
She shewed wel, for no worldly unrest 
A wif, as of hireself, no thing ne sholde 
Wille in effect, but as hire husbond wolde. 

96. The sclandre of Walter wonder wide spradde, 
That of a cruel herte he wikkedly, 
For he a poure woman wedded hadde, 
Hath murdred both his children prively : 
Swich murmur was among hem comunly. 
No wonder is : for to the peples ere 
Ther came no word, but that they murdred were. 

97. For which ther as his peple therbefore 

Had loved him wel, the sclandre of his diffame 

Made hem that they him hateden therfore : 

To ben a murdrour is an hateful name. 

But natheles, for ernest ne for game. 

He of his cruel purpos n'olde stente. 

To tempt his wif was sette all his entente. 

98. Whan that his doughter twelf yere was of age, 
He to the court of Rome, in subtil wise 
Enformed of his will, sent his message. 
Commanding him, swiche billes to devise, 

As to his cruel purjDos may suffise. 

How that the pope, as for his peples rest. 

Bade him to wed another, if him lest. 

99. I say he bade, they shulden contrefete 
The popes buUes, making mention 
That he hath leve his firste wif to lete, 
As by the popes dispensation, 

To stinten rancour and dissension 

Betwix his peple and him : thus spake the bull, 

The which they han publisshed at the fuU. 

100. The rude peple, as no wonder is, 

Wenden ful wel, that it ben right so : 
But whan thise tidings came to Grisildis, 
I deme that hire herte was ful of wo ; 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 71 

But she ylike sad for evermo 
Disposed was, this humble creature, 
The adversitee of fortune al to endure ; 

101. Abiding ever his lust and his plesance, 

To whom that she was yeven, herte and al, 
As to hire veray worldly suffisance. 
But shortly if this storie tell I shal, 
This markis writen hath in special 
A lettre, in which he sheweth his entente, 
And secretly he to Boloigne it sente, 

102. To the erl of Panik, which that hadde tho 
Wedded his suster, prayed he specially 
To bringen home agein his children two 
In honourable estat al openly : 

But o thing he him prayed utterly, 

That he to no wight, though men wold enquere, 

Shulde not tell whos children that they were, 

103. But say, the maiden shuld y wedded be 
Unto tlie markis of Saluces anon. 
And as this erl was pi-ayed, so did he, 
For at day sette he on his way is gon 
Toward Saluces, and lordes many on 
In rich arraie, this maiden for to gide. 
Hire yonge brother riding hire beside. 

104. Arraied was toward hire manage 

This fresshe maiden, ful of gemmes clere, 

Hire brother, which that seven yere was of age, 

Arraied eke ful fresh in his manere : 

And thus in gret noblesse and with glad chere 

Toward Saluces shaping hir journay 

Fro day to day they riden in hir way. 

PARS QUINTA. 

105. Among al this, after his wicked usage, 
This markis yet his wif to tempten more 
To the utterest prefe of hire corage. 



72 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Fully to have experience and lore, 

If that she were as stedefast as before, 

He on a day in open audience 

Ful boistously hath said hire this sentence : 

106. Certes, Grisilde, I had ynough plesance 
To han you to my wif for your goodnesse, 
And for your trouthe, and for your obeysance, 
Not for your linage, ne for your richesse, 
But now know I in veray sothfastnesse, 

That in gret lordship, if I me wel avise, 
Ther is gret servitude in sondry wise. 

107. T may not don, as every ploughman may : 
My peple me constreineth for to take 

— Another wif, and crien day by day ; 
And eke the pope rancour for to slake 
Consenteth it, that dare I undertake : 
And trewely, thus moche I wol you say, 
My newe wif is coming by the way. 

108. Be strong of herte, and voide anon hire place, 
And thilke doAver that ye broughten me 
Take it agen, I grant it of my grace. 
Returneth to your fadres hous, (quod he) 

No man may alway have prosperitee. 
With even herte I rede you to endure 
The stroke of fortune, or of aventure. 

109. And she agen answerd in patience : 

My lord, quod she, I wote, and wist alway, 
How that betwixen your magnificence 
And my poverte no wight ne can ne may 
Maken comparison, it is no nay ; 
I ne held me never digne in no manere 
To be your wif, ne yet your chamberere. 

110. And in this hous, ther ye me lady made, 
(The highe God take I for my witnesse, 
And all so wisly he my soule glad) 

I never held me lady ne maistresse, 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 73 

But humble servant to your wortliinesse, 
And ever shal, while that my lif may dure, 
Aboven every virorldly creature. 

111. That ye so longe of your benignltce 
Han holden me in honour and nobley, 
Wheras I was not worthy for to be, 

That thanke I God and you, to whom I prey 
Foryelde it you, ther is no more to sey : 
Unto my fader gladly wol I wende. 
And with him dwell unto my lives ende ; 

112. Ther I was fostred of ,a childe ful smal, 
Til I be ded my lif ther wol I lede, 

A widew clene in body, herte and al. 
For sith I yave to you my maidenhede, 
And am your trewe wif, it is no drede, 
God shilde swiche a lordes wif to take 
Another man to husbond or to make. 

113. And of your newe wif, God of his grace 
So graunte you wele and prosperite ; 
For I wol gladly yelden hire my place, 
In which that I was blissful wont to be. 
For sith it liketh you, my lord, (quod she) 
That whilom weren all myn hertes rest, 
That I shal gon, I wol go whan you lest. 

114. But ther as ye nie profre swiche dowaire 
As I first brought, it Is wel in my mind, 

It were my wretched clothes, nothing faire. 
The whiche to me were hard now for to find. 
O goode God ! how gentil and how kind 
Ye semed by your speche and your visage, 
The day that maked was oure marriage ! 

115. But soth is said, algate I find it trewe. 
For in effect it preved is on me. 

Love is not old, as whan that it is newe. 
But certes, lord, for non adversitee 
To dien in this cas, it shal not be 



T4 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

That ever in word or werke I shal repent, 
That I you yave min herte in hole entent. 

116. My lord, ye wote, that in my fadres place 
Ye dide me stripe out of my poure vvede, 
And richely ye clad me of your grace ; 

To you brought I nought elles out of drede, 
But faith, and nakednesse, and maidenhede ; 
And here agen your clothing I restore. 
And eke yom' wedding ring for evermore. 

117. The remenant of your jeweles redy be 
Within your chambre, I dare it safly sain : 
Naked out of my fadres hous (quod she) 
I came, and naked I mote turne again. 
All your plesance wold I folwe fain : 
But yet I hope it be not your entent, 
That I smokies out of your paleis went. 

118. Ye coude not do so dishonest a thing. 

That thilke wombe, in which your children lay, 
Shulde before the peple, in my walking, 
Be seen al bare : wherfore I you pray 
Let me not like a worme go by the way : 
Remembre you, min owen lord so dere, 
I was your wif, though I unworthy were. 

119. Wherfore in guerdon of my maidenhede, 
Which that I brought and not agen I bere, 
As vouchesauf to yeve me to my mede 
But swiche a smok as I was wont to were, 
That I therwith may wrie the wombe of hire 
That was your wif: and here I take my leve 
Of you, min owen lord, lest I you greve. 

120. The smok, quod he, that thou hast on thy bake, 
Let it be still, and bere it forth with thee. 

But wel unnethes thilke word he spake. 
But went his way for routhe and for pitee. 
Before the folk hireselven stripeth she. 
And in hire smok, with foot and hed al bare, 
Toward hire fadres hous forth is she fare. 



GP:0FFREY CHAUCER. 75 

121. The folk hire folwen weping in hir "wey, 
And fortune ay they cursen as they gon : 
But she fro weping kept hire eyen drey, 
Ne in this time word ne spake she non. 
Hire fader, that this tiding herd anon, 
Curseth the day and time, that nature 
Shope him to ben a lives creature. 

122. For out of doute this olde poure man 
Was ever in suspect of hire mariage : 
For ever he denied, sin it first began, 
That whan the lord fulfilled had his corage. 
Him wolde thinke it were a disparage 

To his estat, so lowe for to alight, 

And voiden hire as sone as ever he might. 

123. Agein his doughter hastily goth he, 

(For he by noise of folk knew hire coming) 
And with hire olde cote, as it might be. 
He covereth hire ful sorwefully weping : 
But on hire body might he it not bring. 
For rude was the cloth, and more of age 
By dales fele than at hire mariage. 

124. Thus with hire fader for a certain space 
Dwelleth this flour of wifly patience. 
That nother by hire woi'des ne hire face,' 
Beforn the folk, ne eke in hir absence, 
Ne shewed she that hire was don offence, 
Ne of hire high estat no remembrance 
Ne hadde she, as by hire contenance. 

125. No wonder is, for in hire gret estat 
Hire gost was ever in pleine humilitee : 
No tendre mouth, no herte delicat. 

No pompe, no semblant of realtee ; 
But fill of patient benignitee. 
Discrete, and prideles, ay honourable, 
And to hire husbond ever meke and stable. 

126. Men speke of Job, and most for his humblesse, 
As clerkes, whan hem list, can wel endite, 



76 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Namely of men, but as in sothfastnesse, 
Though clerkes preisen women but a lite, 
Ther can no man in humblesse liim acquite 
As woman can, ne can be half so trewe 
As women ben, but it be falle of newe. 

PARS SEXTA. 

127. Fro Boloigne is this erl of Panik come, 

Of which the fame up sprang to more and lesse : 

And to the peples eres all and some 

Was couth eke, that a newe markisesse 

He with him brought, in swiche pomp and richesse, 

That never was ther seen with mannes eye 

So noble array in al West Lumbardie. 

128. The markis, which that sliope and knew all this, 
Er that this erl was come, sent his message 

For thiike poure sely Grisildis ; 
And she with htmible herte and glad visage. 
Not with no swollen thought in hire corage, 
Came at his hest, and on hire knees hire sette, 
And reverently and wisely she him grette. 

12!). Grisilde, (quod he) my will is utterly. 
This maiden, that shal wedded be to me, 
Received be to-morwe as really 
As it possible is in myn hous to be : 
And eke that every wight in his degree 
Have his estat in sitting and service, 
And high plesance, as I can best devise. 

130. 1 have no woman suffisant certain 
The chambres for to array in ordinance 
After my lust, and therfore wolde I fain, 
That thin were all swiche manere governance : 
Thou knowest eke of old all my plesance ; 
Though thin array be bad, and evil besey. 

Do thou thy devoir at the leste wey. 

131. Not only, lord, that I am glad (quod she) 
To don your lust, but I desire also 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 77 

You for to serve and plese in my degree, 
Witliouten fainting, and shal evermo : 
Ne never for no wele, ne for no wo, 
Ne shal the gost within niyn herte stente 
To love you best with all my trewe entente. 

132. And with that word she gan the hous to dight, 
And tables for to sette, and beddes make, 
And peined hire to don all that she might, 
Praying the chambereres for Goddes sake 

To hasten hem, and faste swepe and shake, 
And she the moste serviceable of all 
Hath every chambre arraied, and his hall. 

133. Abouten undern gan this erl alight, 

That Avith him brought thise noble children twey ; 

For which the peple ran to see the sight 

Of hir array, so richely besey : 

And than at erst amonges hem they sey, 

That Walter was no fool, though tliat him lest 

To change his wif : for It was for the best. 

134. For she is fairer, as they demen all. 
Than is Grisilde, and more tendre of age. 
And fairer fruit betwene hem shulde fall, 
And more plesant for hire high linage : 
Hire brother eke so faire was of visage, 

That hem to seen the peple hath caught plesance. 
Commending now the markis governance. 

135. O stormy peple, unsad and ever untrewe. 
And undiscrete, and changing as a fane, 
Delighting ever in rombel that is newe, 
For like the mone waxen ye and wane : 
Ay ful of clapping, dere ynough a jane. 
Your dome is fals, your Constance evil preveth, 
A ful gret fool is he that on you leveth. 

13G. Thus saiden sade folk In that citee. 

Whan that the peple gased up and doun : 
For they were glad, right for the noveltee, 



78 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

To have a newe lady of hir toun. 
No more of this make I now mentloun, 
But to Grisilde agen I wol me dresse, 
And telle hire Constance, and hire besinesse. 

137. Fill besy was Grisilde in every thing, 
That to the feste was appertinent ; 

Right naught was she abaist of hire clothing, 
Though it were rude, and somdel eke to-rent, 
But with glad chere to the yate is went 
With other folk, to grete the markisesse, 
And after that doth forth hire besinesse. 

138. With so glad chere his gestes she receiveth, 
And conningly everlch in his degree, 
That no defaute no man apperceiveth, 
But ay they wondren what she mighte be, 
That in so poiire array was for to see, 
And coude swiche honour and reverence, 
And worthily they preisen hire prudence. 

139. In all this mene while she ne stent 

This maide and eke hire brother to commend 
With all hire herte in ful benigne entent, 
So wel, that no man coud hire preise amend : 
But at the last whan that thise lordes wend 
To sitten doun to mete, he gan to call 
Grisilde, as she was besy In the hall. 

140. Grisilde, (quod he, as it were in his play) 
How liketh thee my wif, and hire beautee ? 
Right wel, my lord, quod she, for in good fay, 
A fairer saw I never non than she : 

I pray to God yeve you prosperitee ; 
And so I hope, that he wol to you send 
Plesance ynough unto your lives end. 

141. O thing beseche I you and warne also, 
That ye ne prikke with no turmenting 
This tendre maiden, as ye han do mo : 
For she is fostred in hire norishing 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 79 

More tendrely, and to my supposing 
She mighte not adversitee endure, 
As coude a poure fostred creature. 

142. And whan this Walter saw hire patience, 
Hire glade chere, and no malice at all, 
And he so often hadde hire don offence, 
And she ay sade and constant as a wall, 
Continuing ever hire innocence over all, 
This sturdy markis gan his herte dresse 
To rewe upon hire wifly stedefastnesse. 

143. This is ynough, Grisilde min, quod he. 
Be now no more agast, ne evil apaid, 
I have thy faith and thy benignitee, 
As wel as ever woman was, assaid 

In gret estat, and pourelich arraied : 
Now know I, dere wif, thy stedefastnesse, 
And hire in armes toke, and gan to kesse. 

144. And she for wonder toke of it no kepe; 
She herde not what thing he to hire said : 
She ferde as she had stert out of a slepe. 
Til she out of hire masednesse abraid. 
Grisilde, quod he, by God that for us deid, 
Thou art my wif, non other I ne have, 

Ne never had, as God my soule save. 

145. This is thy dough ter, which thou hast supposed 
To be my wif; that other faithfully 

Shal be min heir, as I have ay disposed ; 
Thou bare hem of thy body trewely : 
At Boloigne have I kept hem prively : 
Take hem agen, for now maist thou not say, 
That thou hast lorn non of thy children tway. 

146. And folk, that otherwise han said of me, 

I warne hem wel, that I have don this dede 
For no malice, ne for no crueltee, 
But for to assay in thee thy womanhede : 
And not to slec my children (God forbede) 



80 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

But for to kepe hem prively and still, 
Til I thy purpos knew, and all thy will, 

147. Whan she this herd aswoune doun she falleth 
For pitous joye, and after hire swouning 

She both hire yonge children to hire calleth, 
And in hire armes pitously weping 
Embraceth hem, and tendrely kissing 
Ful like a moder with hire salte teres 
She bathed both hir visage and hir heres. 

148. O, Avhich a pitous thing it was to see 

Hire swouning, and hire humble vois to here ! 
Grand mercy, lord, God thank it you (quod she) 
That ye han saved me my children dere : 
Now rekke I never to be ded right here, 
Sin I stond in your love, and in your grace. 
No force of deth, ne whan my spirit pace. 

149. O tendre, o dere, o yonge children mine, 
Your woful mother wened stedfastly, 
That cruel houndes, or som foul vermine 
Had eten you ; but God of his mercy, 
And your benigne fader tendrely 

Hath don you kepe : and in that same stound 
Al sodenly she swapt adoun to ground. 

150. And In hire swough so sadly holdeth she 
Hire children two, whan she gan hem embrace, 
That Avith gret sleight and gret difiicultee 
The children from hire arm they gan arrace. 

O ! many a tere on many a pitous face 
Doun ran of hem that stoden hire beside, 
Unnethe abouten hire might they abide. 

151. Walter hire gladeth, and hire sorwe slaketh, 
Slie risetli up abashed fi-om hire trance, 
And every wight hire joye and feste maketh. 
Til she hath caught agen hire contenance. 
Walter hire doth so faithfully plesanee. 
That it was deintee for to seen tlie chore 
Betwix hem two, sin they ben met in ferei 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 81 

152. Tliise ladies, whan that they hir time sey, 
Han taken hire, and into chambre gon, 
And stripen hire out of hire rude arrey, 
And in a cloth of gold that brighte shone 
With a coroune of many a riche stone 
Upon hire lied, they into hall hire bronghte : 
And ther she was honoured as hire ought. 

153. Thus hath this pitous day a blisful end ; 
For eveiy man, and woman, doth his might 
This day in mirth and revel to dispend, 
Til on the welkin shone the sterres bright : 
For more solempne in every mannes sight 
This feste was, and greter of costage, 
Than was the revel of hire mariage. 

154. Ful many a yere in high prosperitee 
Liven thise two in concord and in rest, 
And richely his doughter maried he 
Unto a lord, on of the worthiest 

Of all Itaille, and than in pees and rest 
His wives fader in his court he kepeth, 
Til that the soule out of his body crepeth. 

155. His sone succedeth in his heritage, 
In rest and pees, after his fadres day : 
And fortunat was eke in mariage, 

Al put he not his wif in gret assay : 

This world is not so strong, it is no nay. 

As it hath ben in olde times yore. 

And herkneth, what this auctour saith therfore. 

156. This story is said, not for that wives shuld 
Folwe Grisilde, as in humilitee. 

For it were importable, tho they wold ; 
But for that every wight in his degree 
Shulde be constant in adversitee, 
As was Grisilde, therefore Petrark writeth 
This storie, which with high stile he enditeth. 

157. For sith a woman was so patient 
Unto a mortal man, wel more we ought 

6 



82 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Receiver! all In gree tliat God us sent. 
For gret skill is he preve that he wrought : 
But he ne tempteth no man that he bought 
As saith seint Jame, If ye his pistell rede ; 
He preveth folk al day, it Is no drede : 

158. And sufFreth us, as for our exercise, 
With sharpe scourges of adversitee 
Ful often to be bete in sondry wise ; 
Not for to know our will, for certes he, 
Or we were borne, knew all our freeletee ; 
And for our best is all his governance ; 
Let us than live In vertucus sufFrance. 

159. But o word, lordings, herkeneth, or I go : 
It were ful hard to finden now adayes 

In all a toun Grisildes three or two : 

For if that they were put to swiche assayes, 

The gold of hem hath now so bad alayes 

With bras, that though the coine be faire at eye, 

It wolde rather brast atwo than pile. 

160. For which here, for the wives love of Bathe, 
Wlios lif and al hire secte God malntene 

In high maistrie, and elles wei-e it scathe, 
I wol with lusty herte fresshe and grene, 
Say you a song to gladen you, I wene : 
And let us stint of ernestful matere. 
Herkueth my song, that saith in this manere. 

161. Grisllde is ded, and eke hire patience. 
And both at ones burled in Itaille : 
For which I crie in open audience, 

No wedded man so hardy be to assaille 
His wives patience, in trust to find 
Grisildes, for in certain he shal faille. 

162. O noble wives, ful of highe prudence. 
Let non humllltee your tonges naile : 
Ne let no clerk have cause or diligence 

To write of you a storie of swiche mervaille, 



GEOFFREY CHAUCEK. 83 

As of Grisildis patient and kinde, 

Lest ChicUevache you swalwe in hire entraille. 

163. Folweth ecco, that holdeth no silence, 
But ever answereth at the countretaille : 
Beth not bedaflfed for your innocence, 
But sharply taketh on you the governaille : 
Emprenteth wel this lesson in your minde, 
For comun profit, sith it may availle. 

164. Ye archewives, stondeth ay at defence, 
Sin ye be strong, as is a gret camaille, 
Ne sufFreth not, that men do you offence. 
And sclendre wives, feble as in bataille, 
Beth egre as is a tigre yond in Inde ; 
Ay clappeth as a mill, I you counsaille. 

165. Ne drede hem not, doth hem no reverence, 
For though thin husbond armed be in maille, 
The arwes of thy crabbed eloquence 

Shal perce his brest, and eke his aventaille : 

In jalousie I rede eke thou him binde, 

And thou shalt make him couche as doth a quaille. 

166. If thou be faire, ther folk ben in presence 
Shew thou thy visage, and thin apparallle : m 
If thou be foule, be free of thy dispence, 

To get thee frendes ay do thy travaille : 
Be ay of chere as light as lefe on linde. 
And let him care, and wepe, and wringe and waille. 

NOTES ON THE CLERKES TALE. 

St. 1. Ther, there. Tk is a pronominal element used to Indicate the second 
person, or person addressed, as in thou, thee, thine, and also as demonstrative to point 
out an object that is before both speaker and hearer at the time, § 4. We may sup- 
pose it first used strictly as a pronominal to indicate the second person, and then by 
union with a different vowel or with different alphabetic elements as a demonstra- 
tive. By Grimm's Law, § 35, it appears as the smooth t in the classical languages 
interchanging with the s, itself likewise a lingual, as Lat. ler, Gr. av ; as the middle 
rfin GermanrfiV, das. — Tliere, as well as the other adverbs, whether of place, time, 
or manner, beginning with this element, as thither, thence, then, thus, are traceable to 
old case-forms of the demonstrative. The demonstrative easily came to be used as a 
relative, as our relative that, and, in the early stage of the language, nearly all its 



84 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

forms. —Kislit, just. See Mancteville. — Itaille, Italy, French form of Lat. 

Italia. Doun, down ; A.-S. dun, adown, a hill, hence a-(/Mre,prep. Z7 and t<; were 

often interchangeable in A.-S. and Early English. Se» loun and tour, below. The 
A.-S. u before a consonant, except I and r, in monosyllables, generally passed into the 
diphthong ou, as A.-S. luis, house; immrf, wound. — Kote, root ; Dan. rof/, Lat. 
radix Gr. pi'f-a. Apply Grimm's Law. The second o in mot is orthographic 
merely, forming no part of the proper stem. — Vesulus, now Viso, a mountain of 
the Maritime Alps, described in the prologue to this tale as the source of the river 

Po. Iiusty, fruitful, from lust in the old sense of vigor, activity. — Habuiiclant, 

abounding, part, from Lat. abundo. — VitaiUe, food, old Fr. vitaille, from Lat. 
victualia. The o/must here be regarded as expressing the relation of direct object 
and hahundant, which would properly be followed by a prep, of condition, be taken 
as an active part, equivalent to productive. — Tlier, is better to be regarded as the 
relative where. — Toiiii, town; A.-S. tun, a field, a dwelling, a town. — Tour, 
tower ; A.-S. tur and tor. — Maist, mayest. The y in many, in ver. 6 of this stanza, 
is elided before another. — Delitable, delectable, delightful; Lat. delectabilix. here 
having a primary accent on the first syllable, and a secondary accent on the 
third. — Saluces, Ital. Saluzzo, a province of Sardinia, bordering on France. Its 
capital is a town of the same name containing some 15,000 inhabitants. The French 
name is Saluces. In this verse it is accented on the first and third syllables ; else- 
where more correctly on the second syllable, as vv. 1, 6, in st. 52. — Higlite, ia 
called; A.-S. hatan, to call, to be named, to bid. The pres. ind. was haet. Our 
behest is from this root, A.-S. be-haes, as also hest, below, st. 10. 

2. Marliis, marquis ; Old Fr. markis, inarchis, from marc, a boundary, a 
territory. See n. P. P. 126. Marquis means simply the man of the territory. Mar- 
grave is compounded of marc and graf, count, A.-S. gerefa, whence reexe and onr 
modern sheriff. Apply Grimm's Law. — Wliilom, formerly, once ; A.-S. hwilum, 
and hwilon, dat. phi. of hwil, while, time. Whilom means thus on times. — Bothe. 
The final e here must be sounded as a distinct- syllable to make out the verse. — 
rjiveth, in tlie next verse is pronounced as one syllable. This contraction is not 
infrequent. — Delit, delight ; Old Fr. delit, from Lat. delectare. — Yore, formerly, 
long time ; A.-S. geara. — Drad, feared ; A.-S. draed an, part, draed en. — Tliitrgli, 
through ; A.-S. thurh and thurc, Ger. diirch. The r is transposed, as is very com- 
mon. Tm^ough is another spelling of the same word, and thorow, as J. C, V. i. 

3. A faire person and. strong. Faire should be read as a dissyllable, and 
the third root consists of son and strong, the o being syncopated. — For to gie. 
See n. Mandeville 10, on the use of for to govern the inf. — Gie, guide ; Old Fr. 
gMicV ; A.-S. g'«u'/ia)i, compounded of g'e intensive and vjitan, to know. Getvitan, 
would properly signify to cause to know, ge being considered an intensive of the 
causative form. — Sauf, save; Old Fr. salv, salf, sauf, Lat. salu vs. 

4. Time, here a dissyllable. — Neigli, nigh ; A.-S. neah, neh, nie.h, andwA. — 
Cures, cares ; here a dissyllable — Efee, also ; A.-S. aec and eac, imp. of v. eacan, 
to increase, to add. — N'old, A.-S. nolde, pret. of nilla^i, to be unwilling, to nill. 
See n. P. P. 407. — Ouarlit, A.-S. aht and oht. — Wedden, old form of inf. in n, 
here with e as a connecting vowel, instead of a as usually in A.-S. The A.-S. root 
was wed, a pledge, a promise. The verb was weddian, to make a promise ; hence, to 
wed, to betroth, to marry. 

5. Flockmel, in troops ; A.-S. Jioc-madu7n , dat. plu. of JJoc-mrtel, literally, by 
flock-parts. — On, one; A.-S. an. — Hem, them. See n. P. P. 39. — Ment, 
meant ; A.-S. maenan and inenan. — Svviclie, such. See n. P. P. 39. The e final 
is silent in this verse. 

6. Ycv."lli, giveth ; A.-S. gifan and geofian. The guttural wa.s represented by a 
character much resembling the y and the z, § 25. This word is pronounced here as a 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 85 

monosyllable ; while the cth in assurelh is a distinct syllable. — Acceptetli, plu. 
imperative, as in A.-S. See n. on wylethe, in Mandeville, 8. — Tfiaii, then. — 
Geiitillesse, kindness, Fi-. derivative from genlil, ha.t. geniilis. Gen in Lat. be- 
comes, by Grimm's Law, toi or kin iu English ; kind and gentle are accordingly 
from the same primitive stem. — Pitous, piteous, .sorrowing; Old Fr. pitos. — 
Plaine, complain. See pleyned, P. P. 166. — Eres, ears; A.-S. eare. — Nat, 
not. 

7. Al, although. From the adjective which was in A.-S. variously spelled al, all, eal, 
eall, ael, aeall, geall, and by Chaucer usually, but not uniformly, fill, were derived the 
adverb meaning wholly, the stem of which, A.-S. hal, is but another variation of the 
primitive stem. Cf. Gr. 6A09, and the conjunction now appearingin the form of aZ- 
though. The adverb with its compounds, a/^a(es, almost, also, always, altogether, 
and the adj. almighty, and the conjunction with its compounds, albeit, although, are 
spelled with a single I. — Don, to do, old inf. in n. — Shewed, is here a di.ssyllable 
a,nAfavoitr takes the accent on the last syllable, as in the original Fr. and Lat. — 
As you lest, as it listeth or pleaseth you. The A.-S. lyst an was generally used as 
au impersonal verb. The early English poets, as may be seen everywhere in Chaucer 
and Spenser, changed the orthography of words at the end of verses in respect to 
the vowels, to make them accord in written form as well as in sound. 

8. Certes, Fr. from Lat. cert us. — Us, dat. plu. — Lilieth, 3 plu. having 
you and werlce as subjects. — Ne — not, double negative. See n. Mandeville, 1. — 
Peple in. The final e is elided. — In soverain liertes rest, in highest rest of 
heart. 

9. "Bowetli, plu. imper. See above, st. 6, on acceptelh ; also below, thinketh. — 
T\''liicli tliat, which. It was a usage common in A.-S. to insert the demonstrative 
after the relative. — Dayes, dissyllable. — Fletli, fleeth; A.-S. flijhth. — Wol, 
will. The change of the vowel i to is probably to be attributed to the influence of 
the 10. The protracting of this element, and depressing the i, in pronouncing the 
word, might easily lead to the supposition that the was a constituent. 

10. rioure. flower, flourish ; Old Fr.Jlur ir and flor ir, to flower, to blossom. — 
Manasetli, meuaceth, threateneth ; Fr. menacer. — Smit, A.-S. smit an , 3 sing. 
pres. ind. S7?2(7, smites. — Eclie, each ; A.-S. aelc andea/c,compoundofae, ever, and 
ilc or ylc, like, same. — Every, once written everich, is from A.-S. aefer, an inflected 
form offlie, if ae be not better regarded as a fragment of the stem aey, as in Lat, 
<Fvum,3LuAilc. The A.-S. ae^AwiVc, every one, is from ae, modified by the substi- 
tution of the guttural for the labial and the relative sign hw with ilc. Its elements 
are ae g-hw-ilc. — Slml, shall ; A.-S. scul on. 

11. Entent, intent, design ; ^v. entente, liaX. intentum. — Hest, behest, com- 
mand. See st. 1, on highte. — Cliese, choose. See n. P. P. 76. — Mest, most. 
A.-S. maest. 

12. Deliver us. Read the two words as making but three syllables — cleliv-''r ws. 
— Besy, busy, here in active sense, causing care or business; A.-S. bisig. — Eor- 
bede, forbid ; A.-&.forbeocle. — Tlirugli, through. See above, n. st. 2. — Slake, 
fail ; A.-S. slac ian, to slacken, give way , fail. Our word slake, as to slake thirst, is 
the causative or factitive of this. A.-S. slaec an, to cause to slack or fail. — Strange 
successour. Divide in reading, stran \ gS sue \ ces sour. — Us, dat. remote 
object ofivo. Or if were be taken in the sense of becoine, happen, like the old rrartk, 
then object of ivere. — On live {in ii/e), alive, an intensive expression meaning 
exceedingly. Cf. " I love that sport alife.''^ — Beaumont and Fletcher. 

13. Hir, their. See n. P. P. 26. — Cliere, cheer, countenance, appe,arauce ; Fr. 
chc}-e, Gr. /capa. — Por to han pitee, factitive objective of made, the relation 
of which to the verb is indicated by the prep. ybr. See n. Mandeville 10. Also, " Art of 
Composition," § 248, Obs. 7. — Pitee, pity ; Old Fr. pite and pitie, Lat. pietas. — 
Er, ere, before. The meaning is : You will constrain me to ihat I never before 



86 KEPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

thought. Divide: I nev \ V er thought \ . — I me rejoiced. The verb is used 
reflexively. So Gower: "So there while I me rejoie." — Selden, rare, seldom, 
A.-S. seldon or seldan, is properly an abverb, although by its inflectional ending 
pointing to an adj. from which it was derived. Chaucer here uses it as an adj. ; 
elsewhere as an adverb. — Tlier, where. See st. 1. — Moste, must ; A.-S. mot an, 
pret. moste. 

14. Tlier as, whereas. — Cheseii, choose. See above, st. 11. — You, dat. 

15. "Wot, knows; A.-S ivat, 3 sing. pres. of whan, to know. — Sountee, 
goodness ; Fr. bonte, Lat. bonitas. — Cometh, monosyllable. — Al, adv. 
wholly. See above, st. 7. — Stren, stock, race; A.-S. s^j-j/ji'/, stock, breed, from 
stryn an or streon an, to beget. Cf. " He is of a noble strain." — Shakespeare. — 
Ygendred and ylhore. The A.-S. past tense, as also not uncommonly the 
past part. , took the prefix ge, which at first was an intensive. The sound of this 
prefix is approximately represented by y. The prefix is retained in archaic diction, 
as by Spenser, and Thomson in his Castle of Indolence. — Him, dat. remote 
object of betake. 

16. Bak, back. See § 21 (3). — Emperoures. Accent the penult. 

17. Again, A.-S. agen, against. ^ Grwtcli, grudge, be dissatisfied; Old Fr. 
groucher. See n. P. P. 305. — Mote, must, 3 sing. pres. ind. A.-S. mot. — Ther 
as, where, literally, in the place in which. As was often thus added to the demon- 
strative and relative adverb. — But, unless. See n. P. P. 131. 

18. Hertly, hearty. Cf. Ger. herzUch. — Or, ere; A.-S. aer. Cf. " Or ever 
(ere ever) the earth was." — Prov. viii. 23. 

19. Sikerly, securely, certainly, from ha,t. secur us. Cf. Ital. siguro. — Bux- 
umly, obediently ; A.-S. bug an, to bow ; whence bocsom, tractable, obedient. Cf. 
Ger. biegsam. — Tlionlieii, thank. The A.-S. interchanged a and o in words from 
this stem. 

20. Purvay, provide, purvey ; Old Fr. porveer, from Lat. providere. Bivide : 
knlgh I tSs and \ sgui eres \ . — Tave, gave. As liim list on liem lay, as it 
pleased him to lay on them. 

21. Paleis, palace ; Old Fr. palais and paleis, Lat. palatium. — Shope, shaped. 
See n. P. P. 3. — Thorpe, a thorp, hamlet ; A.-S. thorpe. Cf. Lat. turb a. Divide : 
of sight I e del I 1 ta I ble. The verse is hypercatalectie. — Herbergage, pasture, 
from Lat. stem herb a, corresponding to which, by Grimm's Law, is A.-S. crop. Di- 
vide : Af ter \ that th^ erth \ e yave \ hem a \ bun dance \ . 

22. Which that. See n. st. 9. — Oxes, gen. sing. The A.-S. plu. was cran, 
whence our oxen. — Ynough, enough ; A.-S. genoh,genog, geneahe. — Grisildis, 
here accented on the first syllable ; elsewhere spelled Grisilde, with accent on the 
second syllable. Sts. 26, 29, 32, 40. 

23. On, one. — Of tex-, oftener, com par. of oft. — Tonne, tun, cask. Cf. sonne, 
sun. — For, because. 

24. Sad, firm, constant, set ; generally used in this sense by Chaucer and Spenser. 
A.-S. saed and sade, satisfied. — Corage, heart. Cf. Ital. coraggio, augmentative 
from Lat. root cor d. Apply Grimm's Law. 

25. "Wortes, worts, plants ; A.-S. wyrt. — Sethe, seethed ; A.-S. pret. seath, from 
seoth an, to seethe. — On loft, aloft ; A.-S. an, on, and lyfi, the air. Cf. on live, st. 
12. — Obeisance, accent first and last syllables. 

26. Creature, accent first and la.st syllables. — Often sithe, often times. Cf. 
selden time, st. 13- Notice the sileut e in silhe, also in hire in last verse of this 
stanza and in st. 27. — Paraventure, by chance ; Fr. par-aventure. — Eyen, 
eyes; A.-S. eg-, !?§•«, eagre, an eye, plu. egaw and eagad. — Him oft avise, often 
reflect. The verb used reflexively. Cf. Ime rejoyced, st. 13. 

27. Womanhede, womanly character, as we say manly character. — Eke, 
eke, also. See n. 4. 



GEOFFKEY CHAUCER. 87 

28. Wlglit, person ; A.-S. wiht, wukt, a creature, a thing, a derivative from 
wac an, to move, to take origin, properly meaning wliat is moved, or is originated. 
In English the word has taken two forms, wight, applied to a person, whil, to a 
thing. — Mervaille, marvel ; Er. merveille,\iaX. inirabilis. — The wliile, the 
time; A.-S. hivil^ time. 

29. Hatli do make, hath caused (persons) to make. The auxiliary was early 
joined with the infinitive. See n. Versions, ver. 7, on hadden knowe. Makeii inf. 
governed as factitive object of do. " Art of Composition," § 248 (7). 

30. Underlie, A.-S. undern, the third hour, or nine o'clock in the morning, ex- 
tending also from nine to twelve. Vndern-mete was meat taken frotn nine to 
twelve z= dinner. In the original tale, it is hora prandii. The word occurs again 
Bt. 133. — Liastetli, monosyllable. 

31. lieal, royal; Old Ft. real, from La.t. regalis. — Arr aide, arrayed; Old Fr. 
arrai, array. This is a Norman French word from the Teutonic stem rad, in Eng. 
read y, A.-S. ge raed ian, to make ready, arrange. 

32. Is went, is gone ; A.-S. wend an, to go. — Payn, fain, gladly ; A.-S. faegen 
and faegn, glad. 

33. relavs^es, companions ; k.-^.felaiv, fellow, from Jilian,Jilgian, to follow. — 
Fond, to be eager, to be earnest. So ver. 9,284. " And I wol fonde to espien onmy 
side." — IiCiser, leisure ; Old Fr. leisir, from Lat. licere, to be at liberty. 

34. Tlires'»vold, threshold ; A.-S. threscwald and therscivald, from therscan 
and threscan, to thresh, and wald, wood. 

35. Withouten, without; A.-S. withuian and withuten. Seen. P. P. 131, on 
butan. — Licnger, longer; A.-S. lenge, Icngra, compar. of lang, long. — Lette, 
hindrance, delay ; A.-S. leitan, to make late, to retard, to hinder. — Tette, fetched ; 
A.-S. fetiayi, to fetch, pret./eZie. 

36. Voucliesauf , vouchsafe ; Old Fr. voucher, from Lat. vac are, and savf. See 
Glcss. on sauf. — Wliat .so betide, what (I pray) may so happen, betide being 
in optative mood. — Or, ere, before. — Lives, life's. They coming by infleetion 
in the gen., had the power oft). See § 19. 

37. IjiUetli, please th ; K.-^. lie ian, to like, to delight. — Me, dat. — "Wolt, 
wilt. See n. st. 9. 

38. Astoned, astonished, astounded; A.-S. stunian, to stun; astundian, to 
astound. — Wex, waxed; A.-S. weox and ^uox, pret. of weaxan, to wax. — 
Abaist, abashed ; Fr. abaisser, to abase. — tTnnetlies, not easily, with difficulty ; 
A.-S. un and eth or eath, easy, easily. — Ageiiis, against. Divide into three 
syllables. — Governetli, imper. plu. See n. on accepteth, st. 6. 

39. Collation, conference. — "Wost, knowest. The 2 pers. sing. pres. ind. 
of A.-S. wrJ a/i was wast: 1 pers. wat; 2 pers. loast (ivatst); 3 pers. wat, plu. 
witon. — Kenle, rule, used reflexively ; A.-S. regol, rege.l, rengol, rule ; in Old Eng. 
sometimes written riwl, as Ancren Riwle. This spelling shows that the u after r was 
diphthongal, as it is after the other consonants. To pronounce the word rool is 
anomalous. 

40. Tretee, treaty ; Fr. traite ; Lat. traclaius. — Wondred liem, verb used 
reflexively. — Honest, reputable, comely ; the old meaning of the word from Lat. 
honestus, honorable. See § 47. It is here accented on the last syllable. ^Enten- 
tifly, attentively, from Old Fr. entendif, Lat. intendere. — Erst, before ; A.-S. aer 
and er, before, comp. aerra; superl. aerost, aerest, and aerst. 

41. G-est, guest ; A.-S. gaest and gest. The u is inserted to show that the g is 
guttural, § 21. — TVoned, wonted ; A.-S. wun ian, to inhabit, to be accustomed. 
— Cliace, pursue, chase ; Old Fr. chacicr, Lat. capliare, capture. — Aril, are. See 
n. P. P. 39, OYiputten. 

42. Sin, since, from A.-S. sithen. See n. P. P. 127. 



88 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

44. Bede, bid; A.-S. bid dan, he. dan, bead an, to bid, to request, to offer. — 
Tliougli me were lotli to tleie : Though to die were repulsive to me.— 
IHe, dat. — Lotli, like abhorrent, was used both actively aud passively. 

45. Peple. The final e is elided in reading. — Hoiiouretli, plu. imper. See 
n. on accepteth, St. 6. — N'is, A.-S. nis, is not, compound of ?ie and is. There 
were a number of verbs in A.-S. which were compounded with the negative ne ; 
as nabban, not to have, ne and liabban, whence hob nob (have have not) ; neom, am 
not, from ne aud earn ; nagan, not to own, ne aud agan ; nitan, not to know, ne 
and ivitan; nyllan, to be unwilling, to nill, ne and wyllan. 

46. And for that iiotliisis, etc. i^or here maybe regarded as prep, having 
for its object the clause introduced by the clausal sign that. " Art of Composition," 
§ 290, Obs. — Gere, gear ; A.-S. geara and gearwa, clothing, from adj. gearo, ready, 
whence yare, now obsolete. — Handle liire. The final e is elided ; han \ dl'hir 
cloth I es. 

47. Heres, hairs ; \.-S. haer and her. — Kempt, combed; A.-S. ce7nb-an, to 
comb, past tense cembde, probably from camb, a comb, a crest. — Corouiie, crown. 
— Noiiclies, jeweled ornaments ; of uncertain origin, conjectured to be the same as 
notches, also from a Late Latin word nusca or nosca,nochia, a clasp. — WTiat, why, 
prep, being understood. — Uimetli, with difficulty. See above, st. 38. — Trans- 
me^ved, transformed; Fr. transmuer, Lat. transmutare. 

50. Tliat to Jaiiicle of Avliicli. Accent the second syllable of JhrnieZe and 
elide the e. — N'as, was not. See above, n. 45. The pret. of A.-S. Jifow, am not, 
was, sing. 1 pers. naes ; 2 pers. naere ; 3 pers. naes ; plu. naeron. — Hem 
tHouglite, it seemed to them. Cf. methinks, methought. 

53. Ke ally, royally. See st. 31. — Honestetee, repute, formed by adding 
the termination to the full form of the adj. Old Fr. honnestete and honnesli. — 
Pees, peace. 

55. At on, to concord, agreement. — Wend, thought, weened; A.-S. wen an 
to ween ; pret. tvende. 

56. Lever, rather, more gladly ; A.-S. leaf, dear, compar. leofra, superl. 
leofeste. — Llltelylied, likelihood. 

57. ThroAve, A.-S. thrag, thrah, a space of time. — Tempt, to try, to prove ; 
Old Fr. tetnpter, Lat. tentare. — Sadness, constancy. See n. C. T. 24. — Assay, 
to try ; Old Fr. asaier, Lat. exigere. 

58. That evil it sit, that it ill becomes, it is unsuitable. Cf. ver. 10,189 : " I 
am a king, it sit me not to lie." Also ver. 9,153 : " And trewely it sit wel to be so." 
Chaucer u.<;es it as a proverbial expression which retains the A.-S. inflection, .■!!< 3 
pers. sing, indie, from sittan, to sit, instead of the English sits. Cf. Lat. sed ere, in 
light of Griinm'.s Law. 

59. A-night, at night. — There as, where. — Ti-ouble, perhaps used by 
Chaucer here as Fr. past part, trouble^ troubled. — Noblesse, distinction, nobility ; 
Fr. noblesse. Although originally noblesse and nobility alike were used to denote 
both the condition itself and also the persons in that condition, the former word has 
come, in modern use, to be restricted to the latter meaning, § 47. 

60. Wele, weal. — Yovirselven, yourselves. The plu. in n instead of the 
A.-S. e (sylf-e). The meaning is: as to any good you yourself must know. — 
Tvray, two. The A.-S. was spelled diversely twegen, twa, tu, tua, tun, twill, twig, 
tivy. 

61. L,efe, beloved. See n. st. 56. — Gentils, people ; Lat. gentilis. — Suggetes, 
subjects; Lat subjectus. Cf. ItoA. suggetto. 

62. Namely, particularly. — Reccheles, indifferent ; k.-^. recce-leas. 

G3. Patience. Divide into three syllables. — Hight, promised. — Maked, 
made ; A.-S. mac ian, to make ; pret. niahodc. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. * 89 

64. Ameved., moved. See wefe in Glossary. — Agreved, grieved. See P. P. 
277. The a is intensive prefix, as in ameved. — JAtli, lieth. — Plesance, pleas- 
ure; ^v. plaisance. — SpUl, spoil, destroy ; A.-S. spillan. Speed and spill seeuieA 
to have been in popular use. See ver. 511 of " The Pearl," an alliterative poem of 
the 14th century. — Owen, own ; A.-S. agen. As in many cases, w has taken the 
place of the primitive guttural. 

65. The meaning is : Nothing can be pleasing to you (like unto you) that can dis- 
please me. 

66. reined, feigned. See n. P. P. 71, o-afeyned. 

67. A mamer sergeant, a kind of sergeant. Cf. st. ISO. 

69. Heut, seized ; A.-S. hand an, to seize, from n. hand. — Despitously, piti- 
les.«ly. 

70. Suspeclous, suspicious ; Lat. suspiciosiis. Cf. Ital. sospeccioso. — Dif- 
f ame, bad repute ; Late Lat. diffamia (Augustine, " Civ. Dei "), from dis s-nHfama. 
— Tlio, then. — Silted, sighed ; A.-S. sic an, to sigh. 

71. Earme, bosom, lap ; A.-S. bearm. — IiCide, laid ; A.-S. lecgan, to lay, pres. 
lede, legde. — Blisse, bless. The spelling conformed to the rhyming- word kisse. 

72. Crois, cross ; Old Fr. crois, Lat. crux, cruc is. — Mote, must. 

73. Norice, nurse; A.-S. norice. Cf. Fr. nourrice, Lat. nutrix, niitricis. — 
KoutUe, ruth, grief ; A.-S. hreoio, grief, rue; hreoivan, to rue, grieve, lament. 
The noun is derived from the verb by adding the suffix th, signifying action or con- 
dition, and thence object and result of action, to the stem of the verb. Cf. truth, 
from trow ; growth, fvom. grow, § 42. — Moder, mother : A.-S. modor, moder ; as 
in fader, Grimm's Law would lead us to expect the present form in th instead of d, 
Lat. pater, mater, Ger. vater, mutter. Brother is according to the rule; A.-S. 
brothor, brother; haX. frater ; Ger. bruder. 

74. Gotli, dotli, biirietli, plu. imper. See n. st. 6, on accepteth. — But if my 
lord forliade you at tlie lest, unless at least my lord forbad. — Briddes, 
birds ; a transposing of the voivel and r, § 46 (1). — To-race, tear it to pieces. To 
in A.-S. is intensive ; the stem does not occur in a verb-form in A.-S., but we have 
hracod, ragged. Cf. paKoy, a rag. Cf. to-rent, st. 137. 

76. Cofre, coffer, chest : Fr. coffre. Cf. Dan. koffert, a coffer ; A.-S. cofa, a cove, 
an ark, a chamber. — - Of, off, § 46 (2). 

77. Panilc. The reading recommended by Mr. Tyrwhitt, in his note on the 
place, is here followed. 

79. Nevened, named, mentioned ; Dan. nievne, to name. 

80. Thonke, thank. — Hery, praise ; A.-S. /^eW an, to praise. 

81. Depai'ted of, separated from. — Iicst, wish, another form of lust, to re- 
semble brest. — Ofter, again. — Connen, know ; A.-S. cunnon and connan, 8 pers. 
plu. pres. of cunnan, to know. 

82. Sikely, sorrowfully. See siked, st. 70. — Sleth, slayeth ; A.-S. slean, to 
smite ; 3 pers. sing. pres. slyth. — Nie, nigh ; A.-S. nih, nieh, neah. 

83. It is no drede, proverbial expression; there is no fear, no doubt. — 
Plainen, complain. See P. P. 166. 

84. Wlierfore, whereto. — Er, once, formerly. — Outraie, be outrageous, be 
extravagant in passion. — BetH, be, plu. imper. See n. st. 6. 

85. N'ill, will not ; A.-S. nillan, to be unwilling, to nill. See n. st. 45. 

86. Kede, counsel, advice ; A -S. raed and red , counsel. 

88. Say, sees; A.-S. 3 pers. sing. pres. sylh, seth, seeth, from seon, to see. — 
Cast, 3 pers. sing ; Dan. kaste, to cast. The verb does not appear in A.-S. 

89. Hent, seized. See above, st. 69. — Ever in one, ever in oneway, ever 
alike. 

90. Grave, bury ; A.-S. graef, a grave, from grafan, to carve, engrave, to dig. — 



90 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

liimmes, limbs ; A.-S. Ii7n. The b in limb is euphonic, § 38. — Kouglit, recked, 
cared ; A.-S. recan, to reck, pret. rohte. 

91. Farfitly, perfectly; Old Fr. parfit, perfect, Lat. perfectus. — Wened, 
weened, thought ; A.-S. wenan, to ween, pret. wende. 

93. Tafee, the infin. instead of the part. See n. on Versions, ver. 7. — Stint, 
A.-S. slentan, to be blunt, to be weary. 

94. Peiiible, capable of pain, pains-taking. Cf. A.-S. pin, pain, Fr. penible, 
toilsome. 

98. Message, messenger; ¥r. tnessager. 

99. Contref ete, counterfeit ; Fr. contrefait, past part, of contrefaire. — BetTinix, 
betwixt ; A.-S. be tivix and be Hveox, from be, prep, and tivagen, two. The x arises 
from the union of the guttural in tivegen with the genitive sign s. To this is added 
for sake of euphony the i in betwixt, § 38. 

100. "Weiiden, weened, supposed. — Ylike, alike ; A.-S. gelic, § 44 (2). 

101. Veray, very, true. Cf. Fr. vrai, true, Lat. ver us. — Su£Ssaiice, suffi- 
ciency. 

102. Tlio, then. — Utterly, most expressly. — Eiiquere, inquire; Fr. en- 
guerir. 

105. Pref e, proof. See n. P. P. 76, on preve. — Boistously, boisterously ; Dan. 
bister. — Hire, to her, dat. — Sotlifastuesse, truth. — If I me wel avise. 
See n. st. 26. 

108. "Witli even lierte, with equanimity. — Aventure, fortune, hap; Fr. 
aventvre. See in Glossary, paraventure. 

109. Wiste, knew. The A.-S. 3 pers. sing. pret. of witan, to know, was tuisle ; 
the 3 pers. sing. pres. was wat. 

110. Glad, may he gladden, may he give joy. — Maistresse, mistress; Old Fr. 
r)iaislresse, Lat. magistra. — Dure, endure. 

111. Nobley, another form of noblesse, distinction. — Toryelde, repay ; A.-S. 
for geldan, to repay. 

112. Sliilde, shield ; A.-S. scyldan, scildan, to shield, protect. 

114. Profre, proffer; Fr. proferir, Lat. proferre. — Doivair, dower; Fr. 
douaire, Lat. dotare, from dos, dot is. 

115. Algate, always ; A.-S. al-geats , from a?, all, and geaf, a gate, passage. — 
ITor non adversitee to dien in tliis case, for no calamity of dying in this 
case. Notice double negative. — Hole, whole; A.-S. Aa^ 

116. Weed, clothing ; A.-S. ived and ivaed, a garment, clothing. 

119. As is used to soften a request or demand. It suggests an ellipsis. Be so 
kind as. — Wrie, cover ; A.-S. ivreon, wrigan, and ivrihan, to cover. 

120. Fare, gone ; A.-S./araw, to go, past part./aren. 

121. A lives creature, a creature of life. 

123. Agein, towards. — By dales fele, by many days. Fele, many, A.-S 
fela,fele, much, many. 

124. Notlier, neither; A.-S. natlior,nather, nauther, and nawther. The provin 
cial nother or nuther is, like many other provincialisms or so called vulgarisms, the 
oldest and best preserved form. 

125. Gost, spirit; A.-S. gast, breath, spirit, ghost. — Pleine, full ; Fr. plein, 
Lat. plemis. 

126. Hiimblesse, humility. — tite, little ; A.-S. lyt, and lytel. — But it be- 
falle of newe, unless it recently happen. 

127. To more and lesse, to great and small. — All and some, all and each, 
literally, whole and part, generally and particularly. — Kicliesse, riches ; Fr 
richesse, whence our word riclies. It is of the singular number by origin, but has 
a plural form ; and consequently is used in both numbers. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 91 

128. Sely, good ; A.-S. set, and sael, good, happy. Our word .lilly has lost this 
original import. — Grette, greeted ; A.-S. gretan, to approach, to greet, pret. grette. 

129. Sitting, suitable condition. See in Glossary, «i«. — Plesance, satisfaction, 
pleasure. 

130. SuflRsaiit, sufficient ; ¥r.siiffismit,l.s.t. suddens. — All swiche manere 
governance, all such kind of direction ; inanere, followed by its limiting noun 
without prep. See st. 67. — Evil besey, ill seen, ill to look upon ; A.-S. besea/i, 
seen, viewed, from v. beseon, to view. — Devoir, duty ; Fr. devoir, Lat. debere. — 
At tlie leste way, at least. Cf. leastwise and at leastwise, once common, now 
obs. Hooker, i. § 5. 

132. DIgHt, put in order; A.-S. diht an, to dispose, set in order. — His, its. 
See J. C, I. ii. 

135. Fane, weather-cock, vane ; A.-S. /ana, a banner. — Romlbel, rumor, rum- 
ble ; Dan. runile, Fr. ronieler. The b is euphonic. — Jane, a small coin of Genoa. 

136. Dresse, direct myself. 

137. Abaist, abashed, mortified; 'Pi. abaisser. — Somdel, somewhat, partly; 
A.-S. som, some, del, part. — To-rent, rent, torn ; A.-S. to, intensive prefix, and 
rendan, to rend. Cf. to-race, St. 74. 

138. Gestes, guests. The u is inserted to indicate that the g is guttural, § 21 
(1). — Everich, every one ; A.-S. aefer, ever, and ilc, same. 

139. Stent, stinted, withheld ; A.-S. pret. stanl, from stintan, to stint. 

140. Fay, faith ; Old Fr.fei, La.t. _fides. 

141. Prifclte, goad, torment ; A.-S. priccian, to prick, to sting. — Mo, me ; the 
form of the word made to suit the rhyme. — Poiirely fostred, brought up in 
poverty. 

143. Agast, aghast. — Apaid, repaid. The a in the words is intensive. — I, in. 

144. Kepe,heed. — Ferde, feared; A.-S. yuer, fear. See in Glossary, o^raicrf. — 
Abraid, escaped, removed herself; A.-S. abredan, to draw out, to move away : pret. 
ahraed and abraegd. — Deid, died, spelling to suit the rhyme. 

145. IiOrn, lost ; A.-S. leoran and leosan, to lose ; past part, lortn, lost. Cf Eng. 
forlorn. — Non. The negative is repeated in the object clause as if it had not been 

given in the principal sentence. 

147. Asivoon, in a swoon ; A.-S. sivunian, to swoon. 

148. "Wliicli, what ; A.-S. hwilc, which, what. — Ne Avlian my spirit pace, 
nor when my spirit departs — a clause depending on the verb rekke. Face is for pass. 

149. Hatli don you kepe, hath caused you to be kept. See st. 29. — 
Stound, hour, time ; A.-S. st-und and stond, a space of time. 

150. Swoiigli, stupor. — Sleiglit, dexterity, skill. — Arrace, pull away ; Fr. 
arracher, to pull away by force. 

151. Deintee, dainty, worthy ; Old Fr. dain. — In fere, together, in company ; 
K.-^.fera, a companion. 

152. Sey, see. See st. 88. — As liire ouglit, as was due to her. 

156. Importable, unbearable. 

157. Gree, good heart ; ire gree, kindly, contentedly', Fr. g-re, from Lat. gra^MS. — 
He preve that lie vi^rouglit, proves his work. — Pistell, epistle. 

158. Freeletee, frailty ; Old Fr./reaZ<e, Lat./ra^?7(to.«. 

159. Alayes, alloys ; Fr. aloyer. — Brast, burst. — Plie, bend ; Fr. pller, t» 
bend, to fold, Lat. plicare. 

162. Cliiclievaclie. Bycorne and Chiehevache are the names of two beasts in 
an old ballad, the former representing obedient husbands, the latter patient wives ; 
Bycorne is fat, and Chiehevache lean. 

163. Countre taille, counter-tally ; Fr. contre taille. — Bedafied, befooled; 
Old Saxon daff, a fool. 

165. Aventaille, an opening in the front part of a helmet for breathing. 



92 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



5. EDMUND SPENSER, 1553-1509. 

Edmund Spenser was born in East Smithfield, London. He was educated at 
Cambridge, where he took his bachelor's degree in January , 1572-3, and his master's 
degree in 1576. After a short residence in the north of England he removed to 
London in 1578. He was here introduced to Sir Philip Sidney, to whom he dedi- 
cated his " Shepheardes Calender " in 1579. In 1586 he obtained a grant of 3028 acres 
in Ireland on condition that he should reside on the estate. Here lie composed 
most of the Faerie Queene. He was driven from Ireland in an insurrection in 1598 
and died a few months afterward in London. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, 
near the remains of Chaucer. 

Spenser wrote other poems besides the Faerie Queene, of great excellence. Among 
the best are his Prosopopoia or Mother Hubbard's Tale, his Hymns, and his Sonnets. 

The selections are printed from the first Boston edition of his works, collated with 
the London edition of 1862 by J. Payne Collier. 

In his Introductory Letter to Sir Walter Raleigh, Spenser says that the general end 
of the Faerie Queene " is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in virtuous and 
gentle discipline." The poem is an allegory in which, according to the original de- 
sign, the twelve private moral virtues, as " Aristotle hath devised, were to be repre- 
sented in the persons of twelve knights." He, however, by no means follows 
Aristotle in the specification of the virtues. The excellence which is constituted of 
tlie twelve particular virtues, and which, he says, is according to Aristotle, "the 
perfection of all," which he calls magnificence, he sets forth in the person of Prince 
Arthur, whom accordingly he introduces in each Book where the special virtue re- 
presented assumes that form. By the Faerie Queene, he says, he means Glory in 
his " general intention," but in particular Queen Elizabeth, and by the Faerie Land, 
the kingdom of England. He is tempted, however, to represent his sovereign in 
other forms of chivalrous adulation. " For," he says, " considering slie beareth 
two persons, the one of a most royal Queen or Empress, the other of a most virtuous 
and beautiful lady, this latter part I do express in Belphoebe." In the first Book are 
recounted the adventures of the Knight of the Red Cross, representing Holiness or 
Religious Excellence ; in the second, of Sir Guyon, personating Temperance ; in the 
third, of Britomartis, a lady knight, personating Chastity; in the fourth, of Cambell 
and Triamond, illustrating the excellence of Friend.ship ; in the fifth, of Artegal, 
representing Justice ; and in the sixth, of Sir Calidore, personating Courtesy. The 
poem was never finished ; and we have of the last six books only " two cantos of 
Mutability," the sixth and seventh cantos under the legend of Constancy, and 
two stanzas of the eighth canto. 

The first canto of the first book introduces the Knight of the Red Cross, St. 
George, with Una, who personates Truth. Tliey soon encounter Error, represented 
in the form of a dragon, which the Knight a.=sails and kills. The personification 
extends to many details, which it will please and profit a busy imagination to study 
out and leisurely contemplate. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 

1. A GENTLE Knight was pricking on the plaine, 
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde, 
Wherein old dints of deepe wonndes did remaine, 
The cruell niarkes of many a bloody fielde ; 



EDMUND SPENSER. ' 93 

Yet armes till that time did he never wield : 
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt, 
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield : 
Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, 
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt. 

2. And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, 
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 

For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, 
And dead, as living, ever him ador'd : 
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd, 
For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had. 
Eight, faithfull, true he was in deede and word ; 
But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad ; 
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad. 

3. Upon a great adventure he was bond. 
That greatest Gloriana to him gave, 

(That greatest glorious queene of Faerie loud,) 
To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have. 
Which of all earthly thlnges he most did crave : 
And ever, as he rode, his hart did earne 
To prove his puissance in battell brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne ; 
Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne. 

4. A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside, 
Upon a lowly asse more white then snow ; 
Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide 
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low ; 
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw : 
As one that inly mournd, so was she sad, 
And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow ; 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had ; 

And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad. 

5. So pure and innocent, as that same lambe. 
She was in life and every vertuous lore ; 
And by descent from royall lynage came 

Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore 
Their scepters stretcht from east to westerne shore. 



94 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And all the world in their subjection held ; 
Till that infernall Feend with foule uprore 
Forwasted all their land, and them expeld ; 
Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compeld. 

6. Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag, 
That lasie seemd, in being ever last. 

Or wearied with bearing of her bag 
Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past, 
The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast. 
And angry love an hideous storme of raine 
Did poure into his lemans lap so fast. 
That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain ; 
And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain. 

7. Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, 
A shadie grove not farr away they spide. 
That promist ayde the tempest to withstand ; 
Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers pride. 
Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide, 
Not pereeable with power of any starr : 

And all within were pathes and alleles wide. 
With footing worne, and leading inward farr : 
Faire harbour that them seems ; so in they entred ar. 

8. And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, 
loying to heare the birdes sweete harmony. 
Which, therein shrouded from the tempest dred, 
Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. 
Much can they praise the trees so straight and hy, 
The sayling pine ; the cedar proud and tall ; 

The vine-propp elme ; the poplar never dry ; 

The builder oake, sole king of forrests all ; 

The aspine good for staves ; the cypresse funerall ; 

9. The laurell, meed of mightie conquerours 
And poets sage ; the firre that weepeth still ; 
The willow, worne of forlorne paramours ; 
The eugh, obedient to the benders will ; 

The birch for shaftes ; the sallow for the mill ; 
The mirrhe sweete-bleedlng in the bitter wound ; 



EDMUND SPENSER. 95 

The warlike beech ; the ash for nothing 111 ; 
The frultfull olive ; and the platane round ; 
The carver holme ; the maple seeldom Inward sound. 

10. Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, 
Untill the blustrlng storme Is overblowne ; 
When, weening to returne whence they did stray, 
They cannot finde that path, which first was showne, 
But wander too and fro In waies unknowne. 
Furthest from end then, when they nearest weene. 
That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne : 
So many pathes, so many turnings seene. 

That, which of them to take. In diverse doubt they been. 

11. At last resolving forward still to fare, 

TIU that some end they finde, or In or out, 
That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare, 
And like to lead the labyrinth about ; 
Which when by tract they hunted had throughout. 
At length it brought them to a hoUowe cave, 
Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout 
Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave. 
And to the Dwarfe a while his needlesse spere he gave. 

12. " Be well aware," quoth then that Ladle mllde, 
*' Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke : 
The danger hid, the place unknowne and wllde, 
Breedes dreadfuU doubts : oft fire Is without smoke, 
And perlll without show : therefore your stroke. 
Sir Knight, with-hold, till further tryall made." 

" Ah Ladle," sayd he, " shame were to revoke 
The forward footing for an hidden shade : 
Vertue gives her selfe light through darknesse for to wade." 

13. " Yea but," quoth she, " the perlll of this place 
I better wot then you : Though nowe too late 
To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace. 
Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate. 
To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. 

This Is the wandring wood, this Errours den, 
A monster vile, whom God and man does hate : 



96 EEPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Therefore I read beware." " Fly, fly," quoth then 
The fearefuU Dwarfe ; " this is no place for living men." 

14. But full of fire and greedy hardiment. 

The youthfuU Knight could not for ought be staide ; 
But forth unto the darksom hole he went, 
And looked in : his glistring armor made 
A little glooming light, much like a shade ; 
By which he saw the ugly monster plaine, 
Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide. 
But th' other halfe did womans shape retaine, 
Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine. 

15. And, as she lay upon the durtie ground, 
Her huge long taile her den all overspred. 
Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwound, 
Pointed with mortall sting ; Of her thei-e bred 
A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed, 
Sucking upon her poisnous dugs ; each one 

Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill-favoi^ed : 
Soone as that uncouth light upon them shone, 
Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone. 

16. Their dam ujjstart out of her den effraide, 
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile 
About her cursed head ; whose folds displaid 
Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile. 
She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle. 
Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe ; 
For light she hated as the deadly bale, 

Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine, 
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plaine. 

17. Which when the valiant Elfe perceiv'd he lept 
As lyon fierce upon the flying pray. 

And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept 
From turning backe, and forced her to stay : 
Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray. 
And turning fierce her speckled taile advaunst, 
Threatning her angrie sting, him to dismay ; 
Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand enhaunst ; 
The stroke down firom her head unto her shoulder glaunst. 



EDMUND SPENSER. 97 

18. Much daunted with that dint her sence was dazd ; 
Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered round, 
And all attonee her beastly bodie raizd 

With doubled forces high above the ground : 
Tho, wrapping up her wrethed sterne arownd, 
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine 
All suddenly about his body wound, 
That hand or foot to stirr he strove in vaine. 
Grod helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine ! 

19. His Lady, sad to see his sore constraint. 

Cried out, " Now, now. Sir Knight, shew what ye bee ; 
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint ; 
Strangle her, els she sure will strangle thee." 
That when he heard, in great perplexitie, 
His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine ; 
And, knitting all his force, got one hand free. 
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great palne, 
That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine. 

20. Therewith she spewd out of her filthie maw 
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke. 

Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw, 
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke 
JHis grasping hold, and fi-om her turne him backe : 
Her vomit full of bookes and papers was. 
With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke. 
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras : 
Her filthie parbreake all the place defiled has. 

21. As when old father Nilus gins to swell 
With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale, 
His fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell. 
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale : 
But, when his later ebbe gins to avale, 

Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherein there breed 
Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male 
And partly femall, of his fruitful seed ; 
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswher may no man. reed. 

22. The same so sore annoyed has the Knight, 
That well-nigh choked with the deadly stinke. 



98 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

His forces falle, ne can no lenger fight. 
Whose corage when the Feend pereeivd to shrinke, 
She poured forth out of her hellish sinke 
Her fi'uitfuU cursed spavvne of serpents small, 
(Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke,) 
Which swarming all about his legs did crall, 
And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all. 

23. As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide 
When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west, 
High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, 
Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best ; 
A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest. 
All striving to infixe their feeble stinges, 

That from their noyance he no where can rest ; 

But with his clownish hands their tender wings 

He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings. 

24. Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame 
Then of the certaine perill he stood in, 
Halfe furious unto his foe he came, 
Resolvd in minde all suddenly to win. 

Or soone to lose, before he once would lin ; 
And stroke at her with more then manly force, 
That from her body, full of filthie sin, 
He raft her hatefuU heade without remorse : 
A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed from her corse. 

25. Her scattred brood, soone as their parent deare 

They saw so rudely falling to the ground, 
Groning full deadly all with troublous feare 
Gathred themselves about her body round. 
Weening their wonted entrance to have found 
At her wide mouth ; but, being there withstood, 
They flocked all about her bleeding wound. 
And sucked up their dying mothez-s bloud ; 
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good. 

26. That detestable sight him much amazde. 

To see th' unkindly impes, of heaven accurst, 
Devoure their dam ; on whom while so he gazd, 



EDMUND SPENSER. 99 

Having all satlefide their bloudy thurst, 
Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse burst, 
And bowels gushing forth : Well worthy end 
Of such as drunke her life, the which them nurst ! 
Now needeth him no lenger labour spend. 
His foes have slaine themselves, with whom he should con- 
tend. 

27. His Lady seeing all, that chaunst, from farre, 
Approcht in hast to greet his victorie ; 
And saide, " Faire Knight, borne under happie starre, 
Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye ; 
Well worthie be you of that armory. 
Wherein ye have great glory wonne this day, 
And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie ; 
Your first adventure : Many such I pray. 
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may ! " 

St. George, as he journeys on in quest of adventure, at length comes under the 
machinations of Archimago, the Prince of Evil ; who, while failing to draw him into 
the snare he had laid, yet succeeds in parting him from Truth. His departure from the 
hermitage of Archimago in the morning without Una, his successful encounter with 
Sansfoy or Unbelief, and his further journeying with Dueasa, Sausfoy's coQipanion, 
who had assumed the name of Fidessa, or Faithful, are recounted in the second 
canto. 

In the third canto, Truth is represented seeking for her knight. She is attended 
by a lion, but being overtaken by Archimago, who had assumed the form and 
dress of St. George, she proceeds deceived under his guidance, until they are met 
by Sanaloy, the Lawless, who, mistaking Archimago for the true knight, attacks 
and overthrows him, kills the lion, and bears Una away upon his courser, despite of 
her entreaties. 

In the fourth canto, Duessa is represented conducting the Redcross Knight 
to the house of Pride, of whom in her " stately palace," with her " six sage coun- 
sellors," Idleness, Gluttony, Lechery, Avarice, Envy, and Wrath, a portraiture is 
drawn in the strongest colors of poetic painting. Here he meets Sansjoy, the Joy- 
less, a brother of Sansfoy and Sansloy, whom, as recited in the next canto, he fights 
and kills. He then leaves the palace. 

In the sixth canto, Una is represented as being taken by Sansloy into a wild 
forest, where her cries bring to her a troop of Fauns and Satyrs, at the sight of 
whom Sansloy flees in fear. Una remains with the Satyrs for a long time, until she 
escapes with one, named Satyrane, and then in the flight as Satyrano encounters 
and engages in fight with Sansloy, she pursues her flight alone. 

In the seventh canto, the Redcross Kuight is represented as made captive by the 
giant Orgoglio, or Arrogance. His dwarf escaping meets Una in her flight, and 
recounts to her all that had befallen the knight since he fell into " the subtile trains 
of Archimago." The two are afterwards met by Prince Arthur, who, after hearing 
Una's story, sets out to release St. George. This enterprise is recited in the eighth 
canto In the next canto, the two knights with Una are met by Sir Trevisan ; 
and here occurs the admirable representation of Despair. Sts. 21-54. 



100 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



DESPAIRE. — CANTO IX. 

21. So as they traveild, lo ! they gan espy 

An armed Knight towards them gallop fast, 
That seemed from some feared foe to fly, 
Or other griesly thing, that him aghast. 
Still, as he fledd, his eye was backward cast, 
As if his feare still followed him behynd : 
Als flew his steed, as he his bandes had brast, 
And with his winged heeles did tread the wynd. 
As he had beene a fole of Pegasus his kynd. 

22. Nigh as he drew, they might perceive his head 
To be unarmd, and curld uncombed heares 
Upstaring stiffe, dismaid with uncouth dread : 
Nor drop of blood in all his face appeares, 
Nor life in limbe ; and, to increase his feares. 
In fowle reproch of knighthoodes fayre degree, 
About his neck an hempen rope he weares, 
That with his glistring amies does ill agree : 

But he of rope, or armes, has now no memoree. 

23. The Redcrosse Knight toward him crossed fast. 
To weet what mister wight was so dismayd : 
There him he findes all sencelesse and aghast. 
That of himselfe he seemd to be afrayd ; 
Whom hardly he from flying forward stayd, 
Till he these wordes to him deliver might ; 

" Sir Knight, aread who hath ye thus arayd. 
And eke from whom make ye this hasty flight ? 
For never Knight I saw in such misseeming plight." 

24. He answerd nought at all ; but adding new 
Feare to his first araazment, staring wyde 
With stony eyes and hartlesse hollow hew, 
Astonisht stood, as one that had aspyde 
Infernall Furies with their chaines untyde. 
Him yett againe, and yett againe bespake 

The gentle Knight ; who nought to him replyde ; 
But, trembling every loynt, did inly quake, 
And foltring tongue at last these words seemd forth to shake ; 



EDMUND SPENSER. 101 

25. " Foi' Gods deare love, Sir Knight, doe me not stay ; 
For loe ! be comes, be comes fast after mee ! " 

Eft looking back would faine have runne away ; 
But be him forst to stay, and tellen free 
The secrete cause of his perplexitie : 
Yet natbemore by his bold hartie speach 
Could his blood-frosen hart emboldned bee, 
But through his boldness rather foare did reach ; 
Yett, forst, at last be made through silence suddein breach : 

26. " And am I now in safetie sure," quoth he, 

" From him, that would have forced me to dye ? 
And is the point of death now tui'nd fro mee, 
That I may tell this haplesse history ? " 
" Fear nought," quoth be, " no daunger now is nye." 
" Then shall I you recount a ruefull cace," 
Said he, " the which with this unlucky eye 
I late beheld ; and, liad not greater grace 
Me reft from it, bad bene partaker of the place. 

27. "I lately chaunst (would I had never cbaunst !) 
With a fayre Knight to keepen companee. 

Sir Terwin bight, that well himselfe advaunst 
In all affayres, and was both bold and fi'ee ; 
But not so happy as mote happy bee : 
He lov'd as was his lot a Lady gent, 
That him againe lov'd in the least degree ; 
For she was proud, and of too high intent. 
And ioyd to see her lover languish and lament : 

28. " From whom retourning sad and comfortlesse. 
As on the way together we did fare. 

We met that Villen, (God from him me blesse !) 
That cursed wight, from whom I scapt wbyleare, 
A man of bell, that calls himselfe Despayre. 
Who first us greets, and after fayre areedes 
Oftydinges straunge, and of adventures rare: 
So ci'eeping close, as snake in hidden weedes, 
Inquireth of our states, and of our knightly deedes. 

29. Which when he knew, and felt our feeble harts 
Embost with bale, and bitter byting griefe, 



102 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Which love had launched with his deadly darts ; 
With wounding words, and term^ of foule repriefe, 
He pluckt from us all hope of dew reliefe, 
That earst us held in love of lingring life ; 
Then hoplesse, hartlesse, gan the cunning thiefe 
Perswade us dye, to stint all further strife ; 
To me he lent this rope, to him a rusty knife : 

30. " With which sad instrument of hasty death, 
That wofull lover, loathing lenger light, 

A wyde way made to let forth living breath. 
But T, more fearfull or more lucky wight, 
Dismayd with that deformed dismall sight, 
Fledd fast away, halfe dead with dying feare ; 
Ne yet assur'd of life by you. Sir Knight, 
Whose like infirmity like chaunce may beare : 
But God you never let his charmed speaches heare ! " 

31. " How may a man," said he, " with idle speach 
Be wonne to spoyle the castle of his health ? " 

" I wote," quoth he, " whom tryall late did teach, 
That like would not for all this worldes wealth. 
His subtile tong, like dropping honny, mealt'h 
Into the heart, and searcheth every vaine ; 
That, ere one be aware, by secret stealth 
His powre is reft, and weaknes doth remaine. 
O never. Sir, desire to try his guilefuU traine ! " 

32. " Certes," sayd he, " hence shall I never rest, 
Till I that Treachours art have heard and tryde : 
And you, Sir Knight, whose name mote I request, 
Of grace do me unto his cabin guyde." 

" I, that hight Trevisan," quoth he, " will ryde, 
Against my liking, backe to doe you grace : 
But not for gold nor glee will I abyde 
By you, when ye arrive in that same place ; 
For lever had I die then see his deadly face." 

33. Ere long they come, where that same wicked wight 
His dwelling has, low in a hollow cave, 

Far underneath a craggy clitF ypight, 



EDMUND SPENSER. 103 

Darke, dolefull, dreary, like a greedy grave, 
That still for carrion carcases doth crave : 
On top whereof ay dwelt the ghastly owle, 
Shrieking his balefull note, which ever drave 
Far from that haunt all other chearefuU fowle ; 
And all about it wandring ghostes did wayle and howle : 

34. And all about old stockes and stubs of trees, 
Whereon nor fruit nor leafe was ever seene, 
Did hang upon the ragged rocky knees ; 

On which had many wretches hanged beene. 
Whose carcases were scattred on the greene, 
And throwne about the cliiFs. Arrived there, 
That bare-head Knight, for dread and dolefull teene. 
Would faine have fled, ne durst approachen neai-e ; 
But th' other forst him staye, and comforted in feare. 

35. That darkesome cave they enter, where they find 
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground. 
Musing full sadly in his sullein mind : 

His griesie locks, long growen and unbound, 
Disordred hong about his shoulders round 
And hid his face ; through which his hollow eyne 
Lookt deadly dull, and stared as astound ; 
His raw-bone cheekes, through penurie and pine, 
Were shronke into his iawes, as he did never dine. 

36. His garment, nought but many ragged clouts, 
With thornes together pind and patched was. 
The which his naked sides he wrapt abouts : 
And him beside there lay upon the gras 

A dreary corse, whose life away did pas. 
All wallowd in his own yet luke-warme blood, . 
That from his wound yet welled fresh, alas ! 
In which a rusty knife fast fixed stood. 
And made an open passage for the gushing flood. 

37. Which piteous spectacle, approving trew 
The wofuU tale that Trevisan had told, 
Whenas the gentle Redcrosse Knight did vew ; 
With firie zeale he burnt in courage bold 
Him to avenge, before his blood were cold ; 



104 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And to the Villein sayd : " Thou damned wight, 
The authour of this fact we here behold, 
What iustice can but iudge against thee right, 
With thine owne blood to price his blood, here shed in sight ? ' 

38. " What franticke fit," quoth he, " hath thus distraught 
Thee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give ? 

What iustice ever other iudgement taught. 
But he should dye, who merites not to live ? 
None els to death this man despayring drive 
But his owne guiltie mind, deserving death. 
Is then uniust to each his dew to give ? 
Or let him dye, that loatheth living breath ? 
Or let him dye at ease, that liveth here uneatli ? 

39. " Who travailes by the wearie wandring way, 
To come unto his wished home in haste. 

And meetes a flood, that doth his jaassage stay ; 
Is not great grace to helpe him over past, 
Or free his feet that in the myre stickefast ? 
Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good ; 
And fond, that ioyest in the woe thou hast ; 
Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stood 
Upon the bancke, yet wilt thyselfe not pas the flood ? 

40. " He there does now enioy eternall rest 

And happy ease, which thou doest want and crave, 
And further from it daily wanderest : 
What if some little payne the passage have. 
That makes frayle flesh to feare the bitter wave ; 
Is not short payne well borne, that bringes long ease, 
And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave ? 
Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, 
Ease after warre, death after life, does greatly please." 

41. The Knight much wondred at his suddeine wit, 
And sayd ; " The terme of life is limited, 

Ne may a man prolong, nor shorten, it : 
The souldier may not move from watchfull sted, 
Nor leave his stand untill his captaine bed." 
" Who life did limit by Almightie doome," 
Quoth he, " knowes best the termes established ; 



EDMUND SPENSER. 105 

And he, that points the centonell his roome, 
Doth Hcense him depart at sound of morning droorne. 

42. " Is not His deed, whatever thing is donne 

In heaven and earth ? Did not He all create 
To die againe ? All ends, that was begonne : 
Their times in His eternall booke of fate 
Are written sui'e, and have their certein date. 
Who then can strive with strong necessitie, 
That holds the world in his still chaunging state ; 
Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie ? 
When houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why. 

43. " The lenger life, I wote, the greater sin ; 
The greater sin, the greater punishment : 

All those great battels, which thou boasts to win 
Through strife, and blood-shed, and avengement. 
Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent : 
For life must life, and blood must blood, repay. 
Is not enough thy evill life forespent ? 
For he that once hath missed the right way. 
The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray ; 

44. " Then doe no further goe, no further stray ; 
But here ly downe, and to thy rest betake, 
Th' ill to prevent, that life ensewen may. 
For what hath life, that may it loved make, 
And gives not rather cause it to forsake ? 
Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife, 
Payne, hunger, cold that makes the heart to quake ; 
And ever fickle fortune rageth rife ; 

All which, and thousands mo, do make a loathsome life. 

45. " Thou, wretched man, of death hast greatest need, 
If in true ballaunce thou wilt weigh thy state ; 
For never Knight, that dared warlike deed, 

More luckless dissaventures did amate : 
Witnes the dungeon deepe, wherein of late 
Thy life shutt up for death so oft did call ; 
And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date, 
Yet death then would the like mishaps forestall, 
Into the which hereafter thou maist happen fall. 



106 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

46. " Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desire 
To draw thy dayes forth to their last degree ? 
Is not the measure of thy sinfull hire 

High heaped up with huge iniquitee, 
Against the day of wrath, to burden thee ? 
Is not enough, that to this Lady mild 
Thou falsed hast thy faith with periuree, 
And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vild, 
With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defild ? 

47. " Is not he iust, that all this doth behold 
From highest heven, and beares an equall eie ? 
Shall He thy sins up in His knowledge fold, 
And guilty be of thine impietie ? 

Is not His law. Let every sinner die, 
Die shall all flesh ? What then must needs be donne, 
Is it not better to doe willinglie, 
Then linger till the glas be all out ronne ? 
Death is the end of woes : Die soone, O Faries sonne." 

48. The Knight was much enmoved with his speach, 
That as a swords poynt through his hart did perse, 
And in his conscience made a secrete breach, 
Well knowing trew all that he did reherse. 

And to his fresh remembraunce did reverse 
The ugly vew of his deformed crimes ; 
That all his manly powres it did disperse, 
As he were charmed with inchaunted rimes ; 
That oftentimes he quakt, and fainted oftentimes. 

49. In which amazement when the Miscreaunt 
Perceived him to waver weake and fraile, 
Whiles trembling horror did his conscience daunt, 
And hellish anguish did his soule assaile ; 

To drive him to despaire, and quite to quaile, 
. Hee shewd him painted in a table plaine 
The damned ghosts, that doe in torments waile. 
And thousand feends, that doe them endlesse paine 
With fire and brimstone, which for ever shall remaine. 

50. The sight whereof so throughly him disniaid, 
That nought but death before his eies he saw. 



EDMUND SPENSER. 107 

And ever burning wrath before him laid, 
By righteous sentence of th' Ahnighties law. 
Then gan tlie Villein him to overcraw, 
And brought unto him swords, ropes, poison, dre, 
And all that might him to perdition draw ; 
And bad him choose what death he would desire : 
For death was dew to him, that had provokt Gods Ire. 

51. But whenas none of them he saw him take, 
He to him raught a dagger sharpe and keene, 
And gave it him in hand : his hand did quake 
And tremble like a leafe of aspin greene. 

And troubled blood through his pale face was seene 
To come and goe, with tidings from the heart. 
As it a ronning messenger had beene. 
At last, resolv'd to work his finall smart. 
He lifted up his hand, that backe agalne did start. 

52. Which whenas Una saw, through every vaine 
The crudled cold ran to her well of life, 

As in a swowne : but, soone rellv'd againe, 
Out of his hand she snatcht the cursed knife. 
And threw It to the ground, enraged rife, 
And to him said ; " Fie, fie, faint-hearted Knight, 
What meanest thou by this reprochfull strife ? 
Is this the battalle, which thou vauntst to fight 
With that fire-mouthed Dragon, horrible and bright ? 

53. " Come ; come away, firalle, feeble, fleshly wight, 
Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart, 

Ne divelish thoughts dismay thy constant spright ; 
In heavenly mercies hast thou not a part ? 
Why shouldst thou then despeire, that chosen art ? 
Where iustice growes, there growes eke greter grace, 
The which doth quench the brond of hellish smart, 
And that accurst hand-writing doth deface : 
Arise, sir Knight ; arise, and leave this cursed place." 

54. So up he rose, and thence amounted strelght. 
Which when the Carle beheld, and saw his guest 
Would safe depart, for all his subtile sleight •, 
He chose an halter from among the rest. 



108 EEPKESKNTATIVE SELECTIONS, 

And with it hong himselfe, unbid, unblest. 
But death he could not woi-ke himselfe tliereby ; 
For thousand times he so himselfe had drest, 
Yet nathelesse it could not doe him die, 
Till he should die his last, that is, eternally. 

In the tenth canto, Una conducts her knight to the house of Holiness, where he 
reeoTers health and soundness lost during his wretched captivity to Pride. Much in 
this canto reminds us of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. Indeed, it would seem that 
Bunyan must have had it in mind. The following stanzas exhibit the general char- 
acter of the canto and also the singular power of the poet in making his allegorized 
virtues and graces and spiritual helps and means pass before u.s in such perfect per- 
sonality, that we forget they are qualities or attributes, and follow their movements 
with the lively interest that attaches only to living persons. 

1. What man is he, that boasts of fleshly might 
And vaine assuraunce of mortality. 
Which, all so soone as it doth come to fight 
Against spirituall foes, yields by and by, 

Or from the fielde most cowardly doth fly ! 
Ne let the man ascribe it to his skill. 
That thorough grace hath gained victory : 
If any strength we have, it is to ill ; 
But all the good is Gods, both power and eke will. 

2. By that which lately hapned, Una saw 

That this her Knight was feeble and too faint ; 
And all his sinewes woxen weake and raw, 
Through long emprisonment, and hard constraint, 
Which he endured in his late restraint. 
That yet he was unfitt for bloody fight. 
Therefore to cherish him with diets daint, 
She cast to bring him, where he chearen might, 
Till he I'ecovered had his late decayed plight. 

3. There was an auncient House not far away, 
Renowmd throughout the world for sacred lore 
And pure unspotted life : so well, they say, 

It govcrnd was, and guided evermore. 
Through wisedome of a Matron grave and hore ; 
Whose onely ioy was to relieve the needes 
Of wretched soules, and helpe the helpelesse pore : 
All night she spent in bidding of her bedes, 
And all the day in doing good and godly deedes. 



EDMUND SPENSEK. 109 

4. Dame Cselia men did her call, as thought 
Fi'om heaven to come, or thether to arise ; 
The mother of three Daughters, well upbronght 
In goodly thewes, and godly exercise : 

The eldest two, most sober, chast, and wise, 
Fidelia and Speranza, Virgins were ; 
Though spousd, yet wanting wedlocks solemnize ; 
But faire Charissa to a lovely fere 
Was lincked, and by him had many pledges dere. 

5. Arrived there, the dore they find fast lockt ; 
For it was warely watched night and day, 

For feare of many foes ; but, when they knockt, 
The porter opened unto them streight way. 
He was an aged syre, all hory gray, 
With lookes full lowly cast, and gate full slow. 
Wont on a staflfe his feeble steps to stay, 
Hight Humilta. They passe in, stouping low ; 
For streight and narrow was the way which he did show. 

6. Each goodly thing is hardest to begin ; 
But, entred in, a spatious court they see, 
Both plaine and pleasaunt to be walked in ; 
Where them does meete a francklin faire and free, 
And enterteines with comely courteous glee ; 

His name was Zele, that him right well became : 
For in his speaches and behaveour hee 
Did labour lively to expresse the same. 
And gladly did them guide, till to the hall they came. 

7. There fayrely them receives a gentle squyre, 
Of myld demeanure and rare courtesee, 
Right cleanly clad in comely sad attyre : 

In word and deede that shewd ^rcat modestee, 
And knew his good to all of each degree ; 
Hight Reverence : He them with speaches meet 
Does faire enti*eat ; no courting nicetee. 
But simple, trew, and eke unfained sweet, 
As might become a squyre so great persons to greet. 



110 EEPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

12. Thus as they gan of sondrie thinges devise, 
Loe ! two most goodly Virgins came in place, 
Ylinked arme in arme, in lovely wise ; 

With countenaunce demure, and modest grace. 
They numbred even steps and equall pace : 
Of which the eldest, that Fidelia hight, 
Like sunny beames threw from her christall face 
That could have dazd the rash beholders sight, 
And round about her head did shine like hevens light. 

13. She was araied all in lilly white. 

And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, 
With wine and water fild up to the hight, 
In which a serpent did himselfe enfold, 
That horrour made to all that did behold ; 
But she no whitt did chaunge her constant mood : 
And in her other hand she fast did hold 
A Booke, that was both signd and seald with blood ; 
Wherein darke things were writt, hard to be understood. 

14. Her younger sister, that Speranza hight, 
Was clad in blew, that her beseemed well ; 
Not all so chearefuU seemed she of sight. 
As was her sister ; whether dread did dwell 
Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell : 
Upon her arme a silver anchor lay, 
Whereon she leaned ever, as befell ; 

And ever up to heven, as she did pray. 
Her stedfast eye^ were bent, ne swarved other way. 

15. They, seeing Una, towardes her gan wend, 
Who them encounters with like courtesee ; 
Many kind speeches they betweene them spend, 
And greatly ioy each other for to see : 

Then to the Knight with .shamefast modestie 
They turne themselves, at Unaes meeke request, 
And him salute with well beseeming glee ; 
Who faire them quites, as him beseemed best. 
And goodly gan discourse of many a noble gest. 



EDMUND SPENSER. Ill 

36. Eftsoones unto an holy Hospitall, 

That was foreby the way, she did him bring ; 
In which Seven Bead-men, that had vowed all 
Their life to service of high heavens King, 
Did spend their daies in doing godly thing : 
Their gates to all were open evermore, 
That by the wearie way were travelling ; 
And one sate wayting ever them before. 
To call in commers-by, that needy were and pore. 



44. There when the Elfin Knight arrived was. 
The first and chiefest of the Seven, whose care 
Was guests to welcome, towardes him did pas ; 
Where seeing Mercie, that his steps upbare 
And alwaies led, to her with reverence rare 
He humbly louted in meeke lowliness. 

And seeniely welcome for her did prepare : 
For of their Order she was Patronesse, 
Albe Charissa were their chiefest Founderesse. 

45. There she awhile him stayes, himselfe to rest. 
That to the rest more hable he might bee : 
During which time, in every good behest, 
And godly worke of Almes and Charitee, 
Shee him instructed with great industree. 
Shortly therein so perfect he became, 
That, from the first unto the last degree. 
His mortall life he learned had to frame 

In holy righteousnesse, without rebuke or blame. 

46. Thence forward by that painfull way they pas 
Forth to an Hill, that was both steepe and hy ; 
On top whereof a sacred Chappell was. 

And eke a litle Hermitage thereby, 
Wherein an aged holy man did lie. 
That day and night said his devotion, 
Ne other worldly busines did apply : 
His name was Hevenly Contemplation ; 
Of God and goodnes was his meditation. 



112 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

47. Great grace that old man to liim given had; 
For God' he often saw from heavens hight : 
All were his earthly eien both blunt and bad, 
And through great age had lost their kindly sight, 
Yet wondrous quick and persaunt was his spright, 
As eagles eie, that can behold the sunne. 

That Hill they scale with all their powre and might, 
That his fraile thighes, nigh weary and fordonne, 
Gan faile ; but, by her helpe, the top at last he wonne. 

48. There they doe finde that godly aged Sire, 
With snowy lockes adowne his shoulders shed ; 
As hoary frost with spangles doth attire 

The mossy braunches of an oke halfe ded. 
Each bone might through his body wel be red, 
And every sinew scene, through his long fast : 
For nought he car'd his carcas long unfed ; 
His mind was full of spirituall repast, 
And pyn'd his flesh to keep his body low and chast. 

49. Who, when these two approching he aspide, 

At their first presence grew agrieved sore, 
That forst him lay his hevenly thoughts aside ; 
And had he not that Dame respected more. 
Whom highly he did reverence and adore. 
He would not once have moved for the Knight. 
They him saluted, standing far afore ; 
Who, well them greeting, humbly did requiglit. 
And asked, to what end they clomb that tedious hight. 

50. " What end," quoth she, " should cause us take such paine, 
But that same end, which every living wight 

Should make his marke, high heaven to attain e ? 
Is not from hence the way, that leadeth right 
To that most glorious House, that glistreth bright 
With burning starres and everliving fii-e. 
Whereof the keies are to thy hand behight 
By wise Fidelia ? She doth thee i-equire, 
To shew it to this Knight, according his desire." 

51. " Thrise happy man," said then the Father grave, 

" Whose staggering steps thy steady hand doth lead, 



^-^v 



EDMUND SPENSER. 113 

And shewes the way his sinful! soule to saA'-e I 
Who better can the way to heaven aread 
Then thou thyselfe, that was both borne and bred 
In hevenly throne, where thousand angels shine ? 
Thou doest the praiers of the righteous sead 
Present before the Malesty Divine, 
And His avenging wrath to clemency incline. 

52. " Yet, since thou bidst, thy pleasure slial be donne. 

Then come, Thou man of earth, and see the way, 
That never yet was seene of Faries sonne ; 
That never leads the traveller astray, 
But, after labors long and sad delay. 
Brings them to ioyous rest and endlesse blis. 
But first thou must a season fast and pray, 
Till from her bands the spright assoiled is. 
And have her strength recur'd from fraile infirmitis." 

53. That done, he leads hiai to the highest Mount ; 
Such one as that same mighty Man of God, 
That blood-red billowes like a walled front 
On either side disparted with his rod. 

Till that his army dry-foot through them yod. 
Dwelt forty dales upon ; where, writt in stone 
With bloody letters by the hand of God, 
The bitter doome of death and balefuU mone 
He did receive, whiles flashing fire about him shone : 

54. Or like that sacred Hill, whose head full hie, 
Adornd with fruitfull olives all arownd, 

Is, as it were for endlesse memory 
Of that deare Lord who oft thei-eon was fownd, 
For ever with a flowring girlond crownd : 
Or like that pleasaunt Mount, that is for ay 
Through famous poets verse each where renownd, 
On which the thrise three learned Ladies play 
Their hevenly notes, and make full many a lovelj' lay. 

55. From thence, far off he unto him did shew 
A little path, that was both steepe and long. 
Which to a goodly Citty led his vew ; 

Whose wals and towres were builded high and strong 
8 



114 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Of perle and precious stone, that earthly tong 
Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell ; 
Too high a ditty for my simple song ! 
The Citty of the Greate King hight it well, 
Wherein eternall peace and happinesse doth dwell. 

56. As he thereon stood gazing, he might see 

The blessed Angels to and fro descend 
From highest heven in gladsome companee, 
And with great ioy into that Citty wend, 
As commonly as frend does with his fi-end. 
Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere, 
What stately building durst so high extend 
Her lofty towres unto the starry sphere. 
And what unknowen nation there empeopled were. 

57. " Faire Knight," quoth he, " Hierusalem that is, 
The New Hierusalem that God has built 

For those to dwell in, that are chosen his, 
His chosen people purg'd from sinful guilt 
With pretious blood, which cruelly was spilt 
On cursed tree, of that unspotted Lam, 
That for the sinnes of al the world was kilt : 
Now are they Saints all in that Citty sam. 
More dear unto their God then younglings to their dam." 

In the eleventh, canto, which is given below, St. George engages and after a doubt- 
ful contest of two days puts to death the great Dragon who held the parents of Una 
in thralldom. In the twelfth, which ends the first book, the marriage of Una is 
Bolemnized in great splendor and state. 

1. High time now gan it wex for Una fayre 

To thinke of those her captive Parents deare, 
And their forwasted kingdom to repayre : 
Whereto whenas they now approched neare, 
With hartie wordes her Knight she gan to cheare, 
And in her modest maner thus bespake ; 
" Deare Knight, as deare as ever Knight was deare, 
That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake, 
High heven behold the tedious toyle, ye for me take ! 

2. " Now are we come unto my native soyle, 
And to the place where all our perilles dwell ; 



EDMUND SPENSER. 115 

Here hauntes that Feend, and does his dally spoyle : 
Therefore henceforth bee at your keeping well, 
And ever ready for your foeman fell : 
The sparke of noble corage now awake, 
And strive your excellent selfe to excell : 
That shall ye evermoi'e renowmed make 
Above all Knights on earth, that batteill undertake." 

3. And pointing forth, " Lo ! yonder is," said she, 
" The brasen towre, in which my Parents deare 
For dread of that huge Feend emprisond be ; 
Whom I from far see on the walles appeare, 
Whose sight my feeble soule doth greatly cheare : 
And on the top of all I do espye 

The watchman wayting tydings glad to heare ; 
That, O my Parents, might I happily 
Unto you bring, to ease you of your misery ! " 

4. With that they heard a roaring hideous sownd, 
That all the ayre with terror filled wyde. 

And seemed uneath to shake the stedfast ground. 
Eftsoones that dreadful Dragon they espyde, 
Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side 
Of a great hill, himselfe like a great hill : 
But, all so soone as he from far descryde 
Those glistring armes that heven with light did fill, 
He rousd himselfe full blyth, and hastned them untill. 

5. Then badd the Knight his Lady yede aloof. 
And to an hill herselfe withdraw asyde ; 

From whence she might behold that battailles proof. 
And eke be safe from daunger far descryde : 
She him obayd, and turnd a little wyde. — 
Now, O thou sacred Muse, most learned dame, 
Fayre ympe of Phoebus and his aged bryde, 
The nourse of time and everlasting fame, 
That warlike handes ennoblest with immortall name ; 

6. O, gently come into my feeble brest. 

Come gently ; but not with that mightie rage. 
Wherewith the martiall troupes thou doest infest, 



116 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And hartes of great heroes doest enrage, 
That nought their kindled corage may aswage : 
Soone as thy dreadfull trompe begins to sownd, 
The god of warre with his fiers equipage 
Thou doest awake, sleepe never he so sownd ; 
And scared nations doest with horror sterne astownd. 

7. Fayre goddesse, lay that furious fitt asyde. 
Till I of warres and bloody Mars doe sing, 
And Bryton fieldes with Sai-azin blood bedyde, 
Twixt that great Faery Queene and Paynini King, 
That with their horror heven and earth did ring ; 
A worke of labour long, and endlesse prayse : 
But now awhile lett downe that haughtie string. 
And to my tunes thy second tenor rayse, 

That I this Man of God his godly armes may blaze. 

8. By this, the dreadful Beast drew nigh to hand, 
Halfe flying and halfe footing in his haste. 
That with his largenesse measured much land, 
And made wide shadow under his huge waste ; 
As mountaine doth the valley overcaste. 
Approching nigh, he reared high afore 

His body monstrous, hoi'rible, and vaste ; 
Which, to increase his wondrous greatnes more, 
Was swoln with wrath and poyson, and with bloody gore ; 

9. And over all with brasen scales was armd. 
Like plated cote of Steele, so couched neare 

That nought mote perce ; ne might his course be harind 
With dint of swerd, nor push of pointed speare : 
Which, as an eagle, seeing pray appeare, ' 
His aery plumes doth rouze full rudely dight ; 
So shaked he, that horror was to heare : 
For, as the clashing of an armor bright. 
Such noyse his rouzed scales did send unto the Knight. 

10. His flaggy winges, when forth he did display. 
Were like two sayles, in which, the hollow wynd 
Is gathered full, and worketh speedy way : 
And eke the pennes, that did his pineons bynd, 



EDMUND SPENSER. . 117 

Were like mayne-yardes with flying canvas lynd ; 
With which whenas him hst the ayre to beat, - 
And there by force unwonted passage fynd, 
The cloudes before him fledd for terror great, 
And all the hevens stood still amazed with his threat. 

11. His huge long tayle, wownd up in hundred foldes, 
Does overspred his long bras-scaly back. 

Whose wreathed boughtes when ever he unfoldes, 
And thicb-entangled knots adown does slack, 
Bespotted as with shieldes of red and blacke. 
It sweepeth all the land behind him farre, 
And of three furlongs does but little lacke ; 
And at the point two stinges infixed arre, 
Both deadly sharp, that sharpest Steele exceeden farre. 

12. But stinges and sharpest Steele did far exceed 
The sharpnesse of his cruel rending clawes : 
Dead was it sure, as sure as death indeed. 
What ever thing does touch his ravenous pawes, 
Or what within his reach he ever drawes. 

But his most hideous head my tongue to tell 

Does tremble ; for his deepe devouring iawes 

Wyde gaped, like the griesly mouth of hell. 

Through which into his darke abysse all ravin fell. 

13. And, that more wondrous was, in either iaw 
Three ranckes of yron teeth enraunged were, 
In which yett trickling blood, and gobbets raw. 
Of late devoured bodies did appeare ; 

That sight thereof bredd cold congealed feare : 
Which to increase, and all at once to kill, 
A cloud of smoothering smoke, and sulphure seare, 
Out of his stinking gorge forth steemed still. 
That all the ayre about with smoke and stench did fill, 

14. His blazing eyes, like two bright shining shieldes. 
Did burne with wrath, and sparkled living fyrc : 
As two broad beacons, sett In open fieldes, 
Send forth their flames far off" to every shyre. 
And warning give, that enemies conspyre 



118 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

With fire and sword the region to invade ; 
So-flani'd his eyne with rage and rancorous yre: 
But far within, as in a hollow glade, 
Those glaring lampes were sett, that made a dreadful! shade. 

15. So dreadfully he towardes him did pas, 
Forelifting up aloft his speckled brest, 
And often bounding on the brused gras, 

As for great ioyance of his new-come guest. 

Eftsoones he gan advance his haughty crest ; 

As chauffed bore his bristles doth upi-eare ; 

And shoke his scales to battaile ready drest, 

(That made the Redcrosse Knight nigh quake for feare,) 

As bidding bold defyaunce to his foeman neare. 

16. The Knight gan fayrely couch his steedy speare, 
And fiersely ran at him with rigorous might : 
The pointed Steele, arriving rudely theare, 

His harder hyde would nether perce nor bight, 
But, glauncing by, foorth passed forward right : 
Yet, sore amoved with so puissant push, 
The wrathfuU Beast about him turned light. 
And him so rudely, passing by, did brush 
With his long tayle, that horse and man to ground did rush. 

17. Both horse and man up lightly rose againe. 
And fresh encounter towardes him addrest : 
But th' ydle stroke yet backe recoyld in vaine, 
And found no place his deadly point to rest. 
Exceeding rage enflam'd the furious Beast, 

To be avenged of so great despight ; 
For never felt his im'perceable brest 
So wondrous force from hand of living wight ; 
Yet had he prov'd the powre of many a puissant Knight. 

18. Then, with his waving wings displayed wyde, 
Himselfe up higli he lifted from the ground, 
And with strong flight did forcibly divyde 
The yielding ayre, which nigh too feeble found 
Her flitting parts, and element unsound. 

To beare so great a weight : He, cutting way 



EDMUND SPENSER. 119 

With his broad sayles, about him soared round ; 
At last, low stouping with unweldy sway, — 

Snatcht up both hoi-se and man, to beare them quite away. 

19. Long he them bore above the subject plaine, 
So far as ewghen bow a shaft may send ; 

Till struggling strong did him at last constraine 
To let them downe before his flightes end : 
As hagard hauke, presuming to contend 
With hardy fowle above his hable might, 
His wearie pounces all in vaine doth spend 
To trusse the pray too heavy for his flight ; 
Which, comming down to ground, does free itselfe by fight. 

20. He so disseized of his gryping grosse, 

The Knight his thrlllant speare again assayd 
In his bras-plated body to embosse. 
And three mens strength unto the stroake he layd ; 
Wherewith the stiffe beame quaked, as afFrayd, 
And glauncing from his scaly necke did glyde 
Close under his left wing, then broad displayed : 
The percing Steele there wrought a wound full wyde, 
That with the uncouth smart the Monster lowdly cryde. 

21. He cryde, as raging seas are wont to rore, 

When wintry storme his wrathful wreck does threat ; 
The rolling billowes beate the ragged shore. 
As they the earth would shoulder from her seat ; 
And greedy gulfe does gape, as he would eat 
His neighbour element in his revenge : 
Then gin the blustring brethren boldly threat 
To move the world from off his stedfast henge, 
And boystrous battaile make, each other to avenge. 

22. The steely head stuck fast still in his flesh, 
Till with his cruell clawes he snatcht the wood, 
And quite asunder broke : Forth flowed fresh 
A gushing river of blacke gory blood. 

That drowned all the land, whereon he stood ; 
The streame thereof would drive a water-mill ; 
Trebly augmented was his furious mood 



120 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

With bitter sence of his deepe rooted ill, 
That flames of fire he threw forth from his large nosethrill. 

23. His hideous tayle then hurled he about, 
And therewith all enwrapt the nimble thyes 
Of his froth-foray steed, whose courage stout 
Striving to loose the knott that fast him tyes, 
Himselfe in streighter bandes too rash implyes, 
That to the ground he Is perforce constraynd 
To throw his ryder : who can quickly ryse 
From of the earth, with durty blood distaynd, 

For that reprochfuU fall right fowly he disdaynd : 

24. And fercely tooke his trenchand blade in hand. 
With which he stroke so furious and so fell, 

That nothing seemd the puissaunce could withstand : 
Upon his crest the hardned yron fell ; 
But his moi'.e hardned crest was armd so well. 
That deeper dint therein It would not make ; 
Yet so extremely did the buffe him quell. 
That from thenceforth he shund the like to take, 
But, when he saw them come, he did them still forsake. 

25. The Knight was wroth to see his stroke beguyld, 
And smot agalne with more outrageous might ; 
But backe againe the sparcling Steele recoyld, 
And left not any marke where it did light. 

As if in adamant rocke It had beene pight. 
The Beast, impatient of his smarting wound 
And of so fierce and forcible despight, 
Thought with his winges to stye above the ground ; 
But his late wounded wing unserviceable found. 

26. Then, full of griefe and anguish vehement. 
He lowdly brayd, that like was never heard ; 
And from his wide devouring oven sent 

A flake of fire that, flashing in his beard, 
Him all amazd, and almost made afeard : 
The scorching flames sore swinged all his face. 
And through his armour all his body seard. 
That he could not endure so cruell cace. 
But thought his armes to leave, and helmet to unlace. 



EDMUND SPENSER. 121 

27. Not that great champion of the antique world, 
Whom famous poetes verse so much doth vaunt, 
And hath for twelve huge labours high extold 
So many furies and sharpe fits did haunt, 
When him the poysoned garment did enchaunt. 
With Centaures blood and bloody verses charmd ; 
As did this Knight twelve thousand dolours daunt, 
Whom fyrie Steele now burnt, that erst him armd ; 

That erst him goodly armd, now most of all him harmd. 

28. Faynt, wearie, sore, emboyled, grieved, brent. 

With heat, toyle, wounds, amies, smart, and inward fire, 
That never man such mischiefes did torment ; 
Death better were ; death did he oft desire ; 
But death will never come, when needes require. 
Whom so dismayd when that his foe beheld, 
He cast to suffer him no more respire. 
But gan his sturdy sterne about to weld, 
And him so sti'ougly stroke, that to the ground him feld. 

29. It fortuned, (as fayre It then befell,) 
Behynd his backe, unweetlng, where he stood, 
Of auncient time thei'e'was a springing Well, 
From which fast trickled forth a silver flood. 
Full of great vertues, and for med'cine good : 
Whylome, before that cursed Dragon got 
That happy land, and all with innocent blood 
Defyld those sacred waves, it rightly hot 

The Well of Life ; ne yet his vertues had forgot : 

30. For unto life the dead it could restore. 

And guilt of sinfull crimes cleane wash away ; 
Those, that with sicknesse were infected sore, 
It could recure ; and aged long decay 
Kenew, as it were borne that very day. 
Both Silo this, and lordan did excell. 
And th' English Bath, and eke the German Spau ; 
Ne can Cephise, nor Hebrus, match this Well : 
Into the same the Knight back overthrowen fell. 

31. Now gan the golden Phoebus for to steepe 
His fierie face in billowes of the west. 



122 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And his faint steedes watred in ocean deepe, 
Whiles from their iournall labours they did rest; 
When that infernall Monster, having kest 
His wearie Foe into that living Well, 
Can high advaunce his broad discolourd brest 
Above his wonted pitch, with countenance fell, 
And clapt his yron wings, as victor he did dwell. 

32. Which when his pensive Lady saw from farre, 
Great woe and soitow did her soule assay. 

As weening that the sad end of the warre ; 
And gan to Highest God entirely pray 
That feared chaunce from her to turne away : 
With folded hands, and knees full lowly bent, 
All night she watcht ; ne once adowne would lay 
Her dainty limbs in her sad dreriment, 
But praying still did wake, and waking did lament. 

33. The morrow next gan earely to appeare, 
That Titan rose to runne his daily race ; 
But earely, ere the morrow next gan reare 
Out of the sea faire Titans deawy face. 
Up rose the gentle Virgin from her place, 
And looked all about, if she might spy 
Her loved Knight to move his manly pace : 
For she had great doubt of his safety. 

Since late she saw him fall before his enimy. 

34. At last she saw, where he upstarted brave 
Out of the Well wherein he drenched lay : 
As eagle, fi-esh out of the ocean wave. 
Where he hath lefte his plumes all hory gray, 
And deckt himselfe with fethers youthly gay, 
Like eyas hauke up mounts unto the skies, 
His newly-budded pineons to assay, 

And marveiles at himselfe, stil as he flies : 
So new this new-borne Knight to battell new did rise. 

35. Whom when the damned Feend so fi-esh did spy, 
No wonder if he wondred at the sight, 

And doubted whether his late enimy 



EDMUND SPENSER. 123 

It were, or other new supplied Knight. 
He now, to prove his late-renewed might, 
High brandishing his bright deaw-burning blade, 
Upon his crested scalp so sore did smite. 
That to the scull a yawning wound it made : 
The deadly dint his dulled sences all dismaid. 

36. I wote not, whether the revenging Steele 
Were hardned with that holy water dew 
Wherein he fell ; or sharper edge did feele ; 
Or his baptized hands now greater grew ; 
Or other secret vertue did ensew ; 

Els never could the force of fleshly arme, 
Ne rholten mettall, in his blood embrew : 
For, till that stownd could never wight him harme 
By subtility, nor slight, nor might, nor mighty charme. 

37. The cruell wound enraged him so sore. 
That loud he yelled for exceeding paine ; 
As hundred ramping lions seemd to rore. 
Whom ravenous hunger did thereto constraine. 
Then gan he tosse aloft his stretched traine, 
And therewith scourge the buxome aire so sore, 
That to his force to yielden it was faine ; 

Ne ought his sturdy strokes might stand afore. 
That high trees overthrew, and rocks in peeces tore : 

38. The same advauncing high above his head, 
With sharpe intended sting so rude him smott, 
That to the earth him drove, as stricken dead ; 
Ne living wight would have him life behott : 
The mortall sting his angry needle shott 

Quite through his shield, and in his shoulder seasd, 
Where fast it stucke, ne would thereout be gott ; 
The griefe thereof him wondrous sore diseasd, 
Ne might his rancling paine with patience be appeasd. 

39. But yet, more mindfuU of his honour deare 
Then of the grievous smart which him did wring, 
Prom loathed soile he can him lightly reare. 
And strove to loose the far infixed sting : 



124 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Which, when in vaine he tryde with struggeling 
Inflam'd with wrath, his raging blade he hefte, 
And strooke so strongly, that the knotty string 
Of his huge taile he quite asonder clefte ; 
Five ioints thereof he hewd, and but the stump him lefte. 

40. Hart cannot thinke, what outrage and what cries, 
With fowle enfouldred smoake and flashing fire, 
The hell-bred Beast threw forth unto the skies, 
That all was covered with dai-knesse dire : 
Then fraught with rancour and engorged yre. 

He cast at once him to avenge for all ; 
And, gathering up himselfe out of the mire 
With his uneven wings, did fiercely fall 
Upon his sunne-bright shield, and grypt it fast withall. 

41. Much was the Man encombred with his hold. 
In feare to lose his weapon in his paw, 

Ne wist yett how his talaunts to unfold ; 
Nor harder was from Cerberus greedy iaw 
To plucke a bone, then from his cruell claw 
To reave by strength the griped gage away : 
Thrise he assayd it from his foote to draw, 
And thrise in vaine to draw it did assay ; 
It booted nought to thinke to robbe him of his pray. 

42. Tho, when he saw no power might prevaile, 
His trusty sword he cald to his last aid, 
Wherewith he fiersly did his foe assalle, 

• And double blowes about him stoutly laid. 
That glauncing fire out of the yron plaid ; 
As sparckles from the andvile use to fly. 
When heavy hammers on the wedg are swaid ; 
Therewith at last he forst him to unty 
One of his grasping feete, him to defend thereby. 

43. The other foote, fast fixed on his shield, 

Whenas no strength nor stroks mote him constraine 
To loose, ne yet the warlike pledg to yield ; 
He smott thereat with all his might and maine, 
That nought so wondrous puissaunce might sustaine : 



EDMUND SPENSER. 125 

Upon the ioynt the lucky Steele did light, 
And made such way, that hewd it quite in twaine ; 
The paw yett missed not his ralnlsht might. 
But hong still on the shield, as it at first was pight. 

44. For griefe thereof and divelish despight. 
From his infernall fournace forth he threw 
Huge flames, that dimmed all the hevens light, 
Enrold in duskish smoke and brimstone blew : 
As burning Aetna from his boyling stew 

Doth belch out flames, and rockes in pecces broke, 
And ragged ribs of mountaines molten new, 
Enwrapt in coleblacke clowds and filthy smoke. 
That al the land with stench, and heven with horror, choke. 

45. The heate whereof, and harmefull pestilence. 
So sore him noyd, that forst him to retire 

A little backeward for his best defence, 
To save his body from the scorching fire. 
Which he from hellish entrailes did expire. 
It chaunst, (Eternall God that chaunce did guide,) 
As he recoiled backeward, in the mire 
His nigh forwearied feeble feet did slide. 
And downe he fell, with dread of shame sore terrlfide. 

46. There grew a goodly Tree him faire beside, 
Loaden with fruit and apples rosy redd. 

As they in pure vermilion had been dide. 
Whereof great vertues over all were redd : 
For happy life to all which thereon fedd. 
And life eke everlasting did befall : 
Great God it planted in that blessed stedd 
With his Almighty hand, and did it call 
The Tree of Life, the crime of our first Fathers fall. 

47. In all the world like was not to be fownd, 

Save in that soile, where all good tilings did grow, 
And freely sprong out of the fruitfull grownd, 
As incorrupted Nature did them sow, 
Till that dredd Dragon all did overthrow. 
Another like faire Tree eke grew thereby, 



126 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Whereof whoso did eat, eftsoones did know 
Both good and ill : O mournfuU memory ! 
That Tree through one Mans fault hath doen us all to dy ! 

48. From that first Tree forth flowd, as from a well, 
A trickling streame of balme, most soveraine 
And dainty deare, which on the ground still fell, 
And overflowed all the fei'tile plaine, 

As it had deawed bene with timely raine : 
Life and long health that gracious ointment gave ; 
And deadly wounds could heale ; and reare againe 
The sencelesse corse aispointed for the grave : 
Into that same he fell, which did from death him save. 

49. For nigh thereto the ever-damned Beast 
Durst not approch, for he was deadly made, 
And al that life preserved did detest; 

Yet he it oft adventur'd to invade. 
By this the drouping Day-light gan to fade, 
And yield his rowme to sad succeeding Night, 
Who with her sable mantle gan to shade 
The face of earth and wayes of living wight, 
And high her burning torch set up in heaven bright. 

60. When gentle Una saw the second fall 

Of her deare Knight, who, weary of long fight 
And faint through losse of blood, moov'd not at all 
But lay, as in a dreame of deepe delight, 
Besmeard with pretious balme, whose vertuous might 
Did heale his woundes, and scorching heat alay ; 
Againe she stricken was with sore afiright. 
And for his safetie gan devoutly pray. 
And watch the noyous night, and wait for ioyous day. 

51. The ioyous day gan early to appear; 
And fa}'rc Aurora from the deawy bed 
Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reai-e 
With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red : 
Her golden locks, for hast, wei"e loosely shed 
About her eares, when Una her did marke 
Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred, 



EDMUND SPENSER. 127 

From heven high to chace the chearelesse darke ; 
With rnery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke. 

52. Then freshly up arose the doughty Knight, 
All healed of his hurtes and woundes wide, 
And did himselfe to battaile ready dight ; 
Whose early Foe awaiting him beside 
To have devourd, so soone as day he spyde, 
When now he saw himself so freshly reare, 
As if late fight had nought him damnifyde, 
He woxe dismaid, and gan his fate to feare ; 

Nathlesse with wonted rage he him advaunced neare ; 

63. And in his first encounter, gaping wyde. 

He thought attonce him to have swallowd quight, 
And rusht upon him with outragious pryde ; 
Who him rencountring fierce, as hauke in flight, 
Perforce rebutted back : The weapon bright, 
Taking advantage of his open iaw, 
Kan through his mouth with so importune might, 
That deepe emperst his darksom hollow maw. 
And, back retyrd, his life blood forth withall did draw. 

64. So downe he fell, and forth his life did breath, 
That vanisht into smoke and cloudes swift ; 

So downe he fell, that th' eai'th him underneath 
Did grone, as feeble so great load to lift ; 
So downe he fell, as an huge rocky clift. 
Whose false foundacion waves have washt away 
With dreadfull poyse is from the mayneland riffc. 
And, rolling downe, great Neptune doth dismay : 
So downe he fell, and like an heaped mountaine lay. 

55. The Knight himselfe even trembled at his fall, 
So huge and horrible a masse it seemd ; 
And his deare Lady, that beheld it all. 
Durst not approch for dread which she misdeemd ; 
But yet at last, whenas the direful! Feend 
She saw not stirre, off-shaking vaine affright 
She nigher drew, and saw that ioyous end : 
Then God she praysd, and thankt her faithfull Knight, 
That had atchievde so great a conquest by his might. 



128 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



NOTES ON SELECTIONS FROM THE FAERIE QUEENE. 

Canto I. ST. 1. — Pricking, spurring. — Plaine Spenser affects archaic 
orthography, as well as archaic diction, every way. He also, as did Chaucer, spells 
to resemble a i-hyming word. The inflectional e, whether final or before s, is gen- 
erally silent. Cf. in this stanza, ^ieWe and Wj'eW; armes, woiindes, markes. A com- 
parison of these archaic spellings in Spenser, with those of the same or similar 
words in Hooker, will show at a glance how far Spenser departed from the prevailing 
orthography of that period. — Ycladd. Both in respect to the prefix y,the repre- 
sentative of the old g-c, and also the doubling of the final consonant after a short 
vowel, Spenser follows an orthography antiquated at the period of his writing. — 
Miglitie. The e is inflectional, and we have the i instead of y, because not final. 
Yet we find both forms occurring without any apparently governing principle. — 
Foming, foaming ; A.-S. yaw and_/ae??i, foam. Cf. liSit. spuma,fuma. Theais 
orthographic, § 18 (1). — Jolly, handsome; Old Fr. joli, jolif. Cf. A.-S. gol, 
merry; geol, the merry feast, yule, Christmas. — Giusts, jousts or justs ; OldFr. 
jouste. andjuste, hat. juxtare , ftomjuxta, Ital. giostiare, to joust. 

2. Clieere, countenance. See C. T. 13. — Ytlrad, dreaded, feared. See n., 
Versions, ver. 1. 

3. Bond, bound ; A.-S. bind an, to bind, pret. band, past part, bunden. — 
Earne, yearn ; A.-S. earn ian, to earn, to labor for. The e and i before a vowel 
were pronounced like y initial, § 13. 

4. Him, is object of beside. — Faire is adjective modifying the predicate. 
See " Art of Composition," § 199. It does not modify the subject, ladie, as the mean- 
ing is not that a fair lovely lady rode, hwt, that she rode fair. — Vele,veil; Lat. 
velum. — Wimpled, plaited. 

5. Forvrasted, laid waste ; for is intensive prefix. 

6. Lasie, archaic spelling of lazy. There is a play upon the words taste and 
last, which are, indeed, both allied in their origin. — Suddeine, sudden, for of a 
sudden, or suddenly ; A.-S. soden, Old Fr. sodaine. — Iceman, a loved one, 
sweetheart; from A.-S. leof, beloved, wadman, one. — Fain, glad ; A.-S./acg-ji, 
glad. 

7. Eiif orst, enforced ; a spelling conformed to the sound of the word. So 
likewise in promist. See " Art of Composition " on modern orthography of verbs in 
the past tense, in which the tense sign is preceded by an aphthongal element ; § 212, 
Obs. — Sommei'S. See n. P. P. 1. — Perceable, pierceable ; Fr. percer, con- 
tracted form of pertuisier, from pertuis, Lat. pertusum, {vom pertundere . — Alleies, 
alleys, walks ; Fr. allde, from alle.r, to go. — Tliem, remote object of seems. 

8. Can, began. The word is in Spenser irregularly written can and gan. A.-S. 
ginnan or gynnan. The word has been displaced by begin, comp. oi gin and inten- 
sive prefix be. See § 48 (3). 

9. Eiigli, yew ; A.-S. eow and iw. In A.-S. the e before a vowel had the 
power of y, § 14. 

11. Eftsoones, forthwith; WteraWy after soon ; A.-S. efisona, from eft ov aeft, 
after, behind, and sona, soon. Yersions, 3. — His needlesse spere. The spear 
would be useless to him on foot. 

12. liCast, lest. This is the A.-S. superlative formofbjtel, little, compar. laessa, 
sup. laest and laesest. The regular compar. would have been laesra, or uninflccted 
and adverbial form laesor, whence Old Eng. lesser. For use of this word as a nega- 
tive form, cf. Lat. jninime. — Sliame ■were to revoke, etc. Were is sub- 
junctive in potential sense of would be, and has for its .subject the phrase to revoke, 
etc. — The for'ward footing, an expression evidently prompted by the alliter- 
ation The poet says the, not our, to give to the reply of the knight the force of a 



EDMUND SPENSER. 129 

general proverbial expression. — "Vertiie, virtue; Fr. vertu, Lat. virtus. The 
proper vowel element before r is so obscured by the r and the connecting sound, that 
■while the orthography is unsettled and strives only to represent the pronunciation 
as near as possible, any vowel character almost may be taken. Of. durtie, st. 15 ; 
thurst, St. 26 ; herte, vertiie,G. T. 27. See § 13. 

13. "W"liilest. See § 38. — Retrate, retreat; ¥v. retraite, Lat. reiractum, 
from re and trahere. — Head, advise ; A.-S. redanwad raedan.^ to read, to interpret, 
to discover, to make known, to counsel, to rule. Otherwise spelled rede, C. T. 86, 
108 ; and reed, st. 21, below. 

14. Hardiment, boldness ; Fr. hardi. The same stem hardi appears united 
with A.-S. suffixes, as hardihood, hardihead, hardiness. The adj. is of frequent 
occurrence. See P. P. 357. — Ought, another mode of writing aught ; A.-S. aht, 
which seems to be a compound of the numeral and the neuter demonstrative. — 
Glooming, glimmering, faint, the same as gloaming ; A.-S. glojn, gloom, 
g-ZoOTJJig', gloaraing, twilight. — Displaide, displayed ; Old Fr. desployer, to dis- 
play, from Lat. root plicare, to fold. 

15. Bouglites, folds, bents ; A.-S. buhth, something bowed or bent, from 
hug an, to bow, to bend. — Uncoutli, unknown, strange ; A.-S. uncuth, from wi 
and cuth, past part, of cunnan, to know. 

16. Upstart, started up ; start is a past tense form of a verb derived from the 
stem stir ; A.-S. styrian. —Effraide, affrighted. See affraitd in Gloss. — With- 
out entraile, without folds, unfolded, from Fr. en, and Old Fr. treiller, to inter- 
weave. 

17. Pray, prey ; a spelling to follow rhyming word stay. — Trenchand, 
trenchant, cutting, piercing; Fr. trencher, to cut or dig. — Eiihaunst, raised; 
Old Fr. enhatincer, from en, intensive prefix, and Lat. stem alt us, high. The u in 
advaunst, enhaunst,glaunst, mii\aa,tes the long quantity of the preceding a. The 
final letters st represent the pronunciation, not the etymolog}'. 

18. Dazd, dulled, stupefied. Cf. A.-S. rfroaei, rfj/sjg-, dull, foolish ; Dan. doese, 
to stupefy ; Eng. dazzle, doze, dizzy. — Attonce, at once. 

19. Grate, chafe. Cf. Dan. kradse and Fr. gratter, to scrape. The sutgect he of 
did constrain is not expressed. 

21. Gins, begins. See n. st. 8, on can. 

22. !Lenger, longer; A.-S. leng, compar. of the adv. lange, from. adj. lang and 
long, long ; compar. lengra ; superl. lengest. — CraH, crawl ; the spelling suited to 
rhyme. The word does not appear in A.-S. In Dan. it is kravle ; Swedish, hrdla. 

23. "Wellte, decline, sink; A.-S. wealcan, to roll, revolve. Cf. A.-S. woken, the 
welkin, the sky. — In, into ; a very common early usage. ^"Vcwen, view ; Old Fr. 
t'ewe, from the past part, of veoir, to see; Lat. videre. — Noyance, annoyance, 
Old. Fr. noier, from Lat. nocere, to hurt. Cf. Fr. nuire, to hurt; ennuyer, to tire; 
Eng. annoy, noxious, noisome, noise, nuisance, ennui, innocence, innocuous, obnox- 
ious, etc. 

24. Bestedd, bestead, conditioned, situated ; from A.-S. be and stede, a place. 
Cf. " They shall pass through it, hardly bestead and hungry." — Isa. viii. 21. — 
JAn, give way ; A.-S. AWwiaM, to lean. — Stroke, struek. — Kef t, reft, cut ofi"; 
A.-S. reafian, to tear away, to part from, allied to rip an, to cut, to reap. From 
this stem, by change of vowel or of consonant, by prefix or suffix, and by compo- 
sition, come many derivatives now in use ; as rip, ripe ; reave, reft ; rive,rift ; rieve, 
a bailiff, sheriff, a reeve of a shire ; rob, bereave, etc. 

Canto IX. st. 21. Griesly, grisly ; A.-S. grislic, horrible, dreadful. The e is 

orthographic, not etymological. — Agha.st, terrified, indie, of agaze, intensive of 

gaze. — AIs, also; A.-S. aelswa, also. — Brast, burst; A.-S. berst an, to burst; 

pret. baerst and bearst. The r and the adjoining vowel are transposed, § 46.{1)- — 

9 



180 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Pegasus his kynd. Spenser in divers places uses this form of expression by a 
poetic license, as in tlie selection I. xi. 7. For its origin, see " Art of Composition," 
§ 117, Obs. 2. 

23. "Weet, know. — "What mister vviglit, what manner of person; Old Fr. 
mesliere, occupation, Lat. ministerium.—Area,A, make known; compound of 
intensiye prefix a and read. See above, n. I. i. 13. — Ye, here in obj. case, showing 
that the inflectional distinctions were much disregarded. — Arayed, for arrayed ; 
Old. Fr. arraier, to array, to dispose, to order. The meaning is : Who has put you in 
this condition. 

25. Eft, afterwards, again. — Natliemore, none the more. See iu Gloss. 
natheles. 

26. Rhyme spellings occur here in dye., nye, case. — Tlie wliicb., archaic form 
from A.-S. 

27. Gent, gentle, of high repute. 

28. Whyleare, just before ; while and ere, a while before. 

29. Emtoost, overwhelmed. — KeiJriefe, Old Fr. repreuver. See n. P. P. 76. 
Reprieve and reprove are different spellings of the same word, but now separated to 
different uses, as in many other cases, § 46 (2). — Ti&w, due. So st. 38. — Earst, 
before. Compar. of A.-S. er, or aer, ere, before. — Pei-swade, persuade ; inf. with- 
out prep. to. The alliteration in this stanza is noticeable, as throughout this extract. 

31. Tong, tongue, § 46 (2). — Mealt'U, melteth. 

32. Treaclioiirs, deceivers ; Old. Fr. trecheor, from trecher and tricher, to trick. 
— Lever, more willingly. See n. C. T. 56. 

33. Ypiglit, situated. See in Gloss, pighte. 

34. Teene, grief; A.-S. teona, reproach, grievance. 

35. Griesie, greasy. — Eyiie, eyes, § 42. —Astound, astounded; Old Fr. 05- 
tone. Hence part, astoned and astound. 

36. Abouts, a license iu rhyme speUiug which defies etymology. 

37. Price, pay for. 

38. Distranglit, distracted; a common spelling in Old English. The m marks 
the quantity of the a as long ; the gk is the aphthongal representative of the gut- 
tural represented by c in the Lat. part, but by h in the infin. distrahere ; the t is the 
sign of past time, or action done. — Uneath, uneasy, with difficulty ; another 
spelling of unneth. See n. C. T. 38. 

39. Pond, fov fanned, foolish; part, from a verb /bn, to be foolish, to fool. 
This word has risen from a comparatively bad to a good use, and given origin to the 
dim., fondle. 

41. Watclifull sted, place of watch. — Bed and droome, drum, in the 
last verse of the stanza, are rhyme spellings. — Points, the simple verb used by 
poetic license for the compound appoints. — Centonell, a capricious spelling of 
sentinel, from Fr. sentinelle. Cf. Sp. centinello. 

44. Ensewen, ensue ; Old. Fr. ensuer, from Lat. in and sequor. The final en is 
Teutonic infin. inflection. 

45. Disaventiires, mishaps ; subject of amate. — Amate, destroy, over- 
whelm, literally, make dead, from a intensive and Fr. mat, dead. — Happen fall, 
happen to fall. 

48. Keverse, make to return. 

49. Table, picture ; Lat. tabula. 

50. Tlirouglily, another spelling of thoroughly. See n. C. T. 2. — Overcra'W, 
crow over ; A.-S. craw an, to crow ; pret. creoiv, crew. 

51. Rauglit, reached ; A.-S. rae can, to reach; pret. /acAZe, reached. The w is 
orthographic ; the gh represents the guttural aphthongal. 

52. Crudled, curdled, — a transposition of the r aud adjacent vowel, § 46(1). — 



EDMUND SPENSER. 131 

S'wo'wne, swonn; A.-S. swunan, to swooa. — Keliv'd, restored to life. — 
Enraged rife, greatly enraged. — Keprocliful, in passive sense — strife that 
is to be reproached. 

53. DivelisH, devilish ; A.-S. deo/ol, deo/ul, deofl, also diabol, devil, Lat. diabolus, 
Gr. Sta^oAos. The vowel in the first syllable was often i or y in Early English. 

54. Amounted., rode away. The Knight had dL-sniounted to enter the cave of 
Despair. He now mounts to make his escape. — Brest, treated. 

Canto X. st. 2. Woxem, waxed, become ; A.-S. weaxan, to wax, to grow ; pret. 
weoz, wox; past. part, iveaxen. — Daint, dainty. See n. C. T. 151. — Cast, 
devised, contrived. — Cliearen, be cheered. Properly cliesr, in intransitive sense, 
become cheerful. 

4. Solemnize, solemnizing. 

6. ITranckliii, a country gentleman. 

7. Sad, grave. — Entreat, treat, entertain. 

15. Quites, repays ; Fr. quitter, properly, to make quiet, a verb formed from adj., 
§ 47(2), Lat. quietus. — Gest, deed, exploit, achievement, Lat. gestum, part. neut. 
of gero. 

86. Foreby, near by. 

44. Iiouted, bowed ; A.-S. lutan, to stoop, to make one's self low. The root is the 
same as that in lie, lay, low, loiver, etc. See lowed, P. P. 257. — Albe, although 
albeit. The pron. it was not commonly expressed as subject of an impersonal verb. 

45. Halble, capable ; Old Fr. hahle, Lat. habilis. 

46. AiJply, ply, prosecute. 

47. Persaunt, piercing-, from Old Fr. perser ; Mod. Fr. percer, to pierce. — 
Si>riglit, spirit, spelled sprite, with modified meaning, R. L. i. 59. 

48. Pyned, reduced, wasted. 

50. Beliiglit, entrusted; A.-S. be and hiktan, to trust; pret. hihte; part. 
gehyten. — According, yielding. 

56. Enquere, inquire ; Fr. enquerir, Lat. inguirere. 

Canto XI. st. 1. Wex, wax, become. See n. Canto X. 2. — Forwasted, much 
wasted. See I. 5. — BLax'tie, encouraging. 

2. Kenowmed, renowned ; Fr. renojnmer, part, renommee, Lat. re aadnonun. — 
Batteill, battle ; Fr. bataille. The accent is drawn back to the first syllable ac- 
cording to common English analogy, and in consequence the t is doubled. 

4. Uneatli, beneath ; from A.-S. 07i or an, prep., and neothe, down. Cf. A.-S. 
anith erian, to put beneath. The o and u are interchanged, as unloose for onloose, 
A.-S. onnyt and unnyt, not useful, and untill, below. The word is sometimes spelled 
unneath. — Blytli, gladly ; A.-S. blithe. Cf. under Grimm's Law, Lat. laet us, 
and hilaris. — Untill, prep, unto, A.-S. an or on and til, to. See above, uneath. 

5. Tmpe, imp, scion, offspring ; A.-S. imp an, to engraft, that is, to insert an 
imp or scion. The noun does not appear in A.-S., but in other Teutonic languages 
it survives, as in Dan. ympe, a scion, a graft. The word has degenerated in use 
in English. 

7. Hauglitie, lofty ; Old Fr. hault, Lat. alt us. The study of the etymology 
and use of this word will exemplify very happily the history of many words in our 
vocabulary. In the first place we have two stem words, one in the Latin, the other 
in the Teutonic language, not improbably one in primitive origin, but slightly diver- 
sified in form : Lat. alt, without the aspirate, and A.-S. heah, Goth, hau/is. Mod. Ger. 
hoch. Then we have both stems brought into our composite language with the dif- 
ferent forms they had in the dialects from which they immediately came. And 
finally we have these forms set apart to express modifications of the original mean- 
ing. In some cases the diversity of origin seems to be overlooked, and We find 
spellings partaking of the peculiarities of both forms. The old Fr. hault thus 
would seem to have taken the aspirate from a Teutonic source, if indeed it did not 



132 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

merely restore what had been lost in the Latin. Cf. n. st. 31, below. — His. For 
the use of this possessive, see n. 1. ix. 21. — Slaze, illustrate ; A.-S. blase, a blaze, 
a flame. Cf. under Grimm's Law, Lat. flamma, Gr. i|)X6f . 

10. Flaggy, drooping. Cf. Lat. flac cus. — Him list, pleased him. See n. 0. 
T. 7. 

11. Sliieldes, scales ; A.-S. scyld, as if from seel or scyll, meaning sotnething 
shelled or pared off. 

12. Steele, is object of exceed, the grammatical subject of which is sharpnesse. — 
Kavin, prey. Cf. Lat. rapina, Fr. rapine. 

13. Seare, scorching, drying. It is here used in active sense. A.-S. sear ian, to 
sear, to dry up. 

14. Sliyre, region ; A.-S. scyran, to shear, to part off, hence n. scyre, a district of 
country, a shire. § 20 (2). 

15. Brused, bruised; A.-S. brys an, Old Fr. bruiser and bruser, to bruise. — 
Cliaiiffed, chafed ; Pr. chauffer, Lat. calefacere, from calidus, hot, and facere, to 
make. 

19. Subject plaine, plain lying below them. — Ewglien, of yew. Seel. i. 
9. — Hable, proper. See xi. 45. — Pounces, claws ; Old Fr. pojice, Lat. ^Mg-»iMS, 
a fist. — Trusse, seize ; Old Fr. trosser, from Lat. torquere. 

20. Tlirillant, piercing; A.-S. ihyrl and tkryl, a hole; thyrlian, to drill, to 
make a hole. Cf. nos-tril, nose-drill. Cf. nose-thrill, st. 22. The suifiK ant is prop- 
erly Fr. — Embosse, to inclose, to hide. 

22. Nose-tlirill. See n. st. 20. 

23. Tliyes, rhyme spelling of (Aig-As. — Implyes, infolds, entangles ; Lat. in and 
pZi'co, to fold. — Can, for g-aw, began. See n. st. 8. 

27. That great cliampion, Hercules. — Dolours, griefs; Lat. dolor. 

28. Emboyled, chafed ; Fr. em and bouillir. — Brent, burnt ; A.-S. byrnan 
and hrennan, to hMva. Gf. brandy, from brantwine, burnt wine; Ger. brantwein^ 
These adjectives in the first verse are respectively modified by the nouns in the sec- 
ond, yaywZ by heat, ivearie by toyle, etc. 

SO. Silo, Siloam, object of excell. — Bath, and Spau, Spa, celebrated watering 
places in England and Belgium. — Cephise, a celebrated river in Boeotia. — He- 
brus, a river in Thrace. 

31. Journall, daily ; Fr. jonrnale, Lat. diurnalis, daily. Daily, diurnal, and 
journal are adjectives, properly of the same import, from the same primitive stem 
through different channels, and now set apart to divers specific uses. Cf. n. on st. 
7. — K.est, cast. 

32. Entirely, with all her strength. — Dreriment, distress; with Lat. in- 
stead of A.-S. suffix, for dreariness. 

88. Intended, stretched out. — Behott, assured, promised ; A.-S. beholan, to 
TOW, to promise. Cf. in Gloss, hight. — His, its. See J. C. I. ii. — Seasd, seized; 
a rhyme speUing. — Banding, rankling; A.-S. ranc, rank, proud, swelling. Cf. 
rancour, st. 40. 

39. Hefte, raised; A.-S. hebban and hefan, to heave, to raise, whence Eng. 
heaven, what is raised, and head, A.-S. heafod, heaved, or raised. 

40. Enfouldred, mixed with lightning; Old Fr. /owWre, lio-t./idgur. 

41. Talaiuits, talons ; Fr. talon, a heel ; Lat. tahts. — Gage, pledge, prize, ob- 
ject of strife. See pledge in st. 43, Fr. gage, Lat. vas {vad s), a pledge ; Late Lat. 
vadium, Ital. gaggio, A.-S. wed. The Eng. gage, loage, ivager, etc., have the 
same origin. Cf. guaranty a,nA warranty ; also, guard t^nd ward. See § 46 (2). 

42. Andvile, anvil; A.-S. anfilt. 

43. Minisht, diminished. — Hong, hung ; A.-S. ho7i, pret. heng; part, hangen. 
45. Noyd, annoyed. See n. on noyance, I. i. 23. — Forvvearied, wearied out. 

Ci. forivasled, I. i. 5 ; I. si. 5; a\?.o forwandred , P. P. 13. 



RICHARD HOOKER. 133 

46. Over all, over all places, everywhere. — Redcl, declared. See n. on read, 
I. i. 13. — The crime of our first f atliers fall. The instrumentality of 
provoking the crime. 

48. Dainty deare, lusciously precious. — Dea'vved, bedewed, moistened; 
deaio, dew ; dea-ivian, to hedew. 

52. Damiiifyde, injured; Lat. damnum and/acere. — Woxe, grew. See n. 
C. T. 38. 

53. Attoiiee, at once ; at or att, and ones, gen. of A.-S. an, one. — Qiiiglit, a 
rhyme spelling for qtiite. See n. on qnites, I. x. 15. — Rebutted, thrust back; 
Fr. rebuter. — Importune, urgent. — Retyrd, drawn back ; Fr. re and tirer, to 
draw. The root is allied to Eng. tear, draw ; Lat. trahere. The verb retire lost its 
transitive use, but has recently recovered it in financial dialect, as to retire bonds, 
notes, etc. 

55. "Wliicli slie misdeemd, which she vainly feU; a word denoting intelli- 
gence used to denote feeling. 

6. RICHARD HOOKER, 1554-1600. 

Richard Hooker was born in Ileavytree, in or near Exeter, March 1554. He 
was educated at Oxford, where he was made deputy-profe.ssor of Hebrew in 1579. He 
was appointed to the mastership of the Temple in London in 1585. Here he became 
involved in a controversy which led him to seek retirement for stud}' in a country 
parsonage. His great work on Ecclesiastical Polity he wrote in this retirement, the 
first year of which was spent in the rectory of Boscombe, "Wiltshire, whence he re- 
moved to the rectory of Bishopsbourne. Here he died, Nov. 2, 1600. His biography 
was written by Izaak Walton, 1593-1683. 

The selections are from the London edition of 1676. The marginal references are 
omitted. 

5. God alone excepted, who actually and everlastingly is, 
whatsoever he may be, and which cannot hereafter be, that which 
now he is not ; all other things besides are somewhat in possibil- 
ity, which as yet they are not in act. And for this cause there 
is in all things an appetite or desire, whereby they incline to 
something which they may be ; and when they are it, they shall 
be perfecter than now they are. All which Perfections are con- 
tained under the general name of Goodness. And because there 
is not in the World any thing whereby another may not some 
way be made the perfecter, therefore all things that are, are 
good. Again, sith thei'e can be no goodness desired, which pro- 
ceedeth not from God himself, as from the supream cause of all 
things ; and every effect doth after a sort contain, at leastwise 
resemble the cause from which it proceedeth ; All things in the 
World ai-e said, in some sort, to seek the highest, and to covet 
more or less the participation of God himself; yet this doth no 
where so .much appear, as it doth in Man, because there are so 
many kinds of Perfections which Man seeketh. The first degree 



184 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

of Goodness is, that General Perfection whicli all things do seek, 
in desiring the continuance of their Being : all things therefore 
coveting, as much as may be, to be like unto God in Being ever, 
that which cannot hereunto attain jDersonally, doth seek to con- 
tinue itself another way ; that is, by Off-spring and Propagation. 
The next degree of Goodness is, that which each thing coveteth, 
by affecting resemblance with God, in the constancy and excel- 
lency of those operations which belong unto their kind. The 
Immutability of God they strive unto, by working either always, 
or for the most part, after one and the same manner ; his abso- 
lute exactness they imitate, by tending unto that which is most 
exquisite in every particular. Hence have risen a number of 
Axioms in Philosophy, shewing. How the works of nature do 
always aim at that lohich cannot be bettered. These two kinds 
of Goodness rehearsed, are so nearly united to the things them- 
selves which desire them, that we scarcely perceive the appetite 
to stir in reaching forth her hand towards them. But the desire 
of those Perfections which grow externally, is more apparent, es- 
pecially of such as are not expresly desired, unless they be first 
known, or such as are not for any other cause than for Knowl- 
edge itself desired. Concerning Perfections in this kind, that by 
proceeding in the Knowledge of Truth, and by growing in the 
exercise of Vertue, Man, amongst the Creatures of this inferiour 
World, aspireth to the greatest Conformity with God : This is 
not only known unto us, whom he himself hath so instructed, but 
even they do acknowledge, who amongst men are not judged the 
nearest unto him. With Plato, what one thing more usual, than to 
excite men unto the love of Wisdom, by shewing, how much wise 
men are thereby exalted above men ; how knowledge doth raise 
them up into Heaven ; how it maketh them, though not Gods, 
yet as Gods, high, admirable, and divine ? And Mercurlus Tris- 
megistus speaking of the vertues of a righteous Soul, Such spirits 
(saith he) are never cloyed with praising and speaking ivell of all 
men, with doing good unto every one by ivord and deed, because 
they study to frame themselves according to The Pattern of the 
Father of Spirits. 

6. In the matter of Knowledge, there is between the Angels 
of God, and the Children of Men, this difference : Angels already 
have full and compleat knowledge in the highest degree that can 
be imparted unto them : Men, if we view them in their Spring, 
are at the first without understanding or knowlediro at all. Nev- 



RICHARD HOOKER. 135 

ertlieless, from this utter vacuity they grow by degrees, till they 
come at length to be even as the Angels themselves are. That 
which agreeth to 'the one now, the other shall attain unto in the 
end ; they are not so far disjoyned and severed, but that they 
come at length to meet. The Soul of man being therefore at 
the first as a Book, wherein nothing is, and yet all things may be 
imprinted ; we are to search by what steps and' degrees it riseth 
unto Perfection of Knowledge. Unto that which hath been 
already set down concerning Natural Agents, this we must add, 
That albeit therein we have comprised as well Creatures living, 
as void of life, if they be in degree of nature beneath Men ; 
nevertheless, a difference we must observe between those Natural 
Agents that work altogether unwittingly ; and those which have, 
though weak, yet some understanding what they do, as Fishes, 
Fowls, and Beasts have. Beasts are in sensible capacity as ripe 
even as Men themselves, perhaps more ripe. For as Stones, 
though in dignity of Nature inferiour unto Plants, yet exceed 
them in firmness of strength, or durability of Being ; and Plants, 
though beneath the excellency of Creatures endued with sense, 
yet exceed them in the Faculty of Vegetation, and of Fertility : 
So Beasts, though otherwise behind Men, may notwithstanding 
in actions of Sense and Fancy go beyond them ; because the 
endeavours of Nature, when it hath an higher perfection to seek, 
are in lower the more remiss, not esteeming thereof so much as 
those things do, which have no better proposed unto them. The 
Soul of Man therefore, being capable of a more Divine Perfec- 
tion, hath (besides the faculties of growing unto sensible knowl- 
edge, which is common unto us with Beasts) a further liability, 
whereof in them there is no shew at all, the ability of reaching 
higher than unto sensible things. Till we grow to some ripeness 
of years, the Soul of Man doth only store it self with conceits of 
things of inferiour and more open quality, which afterwards do 
serve as Instruments unto that which is greater ; in the mean- 
while, above the reach of meaner Creatures it ascendeth not. 
When once it comprehendeth any thing above this, as the differ- 
ences of time, affirmations, negations, and contradictions in speech, 
we then count it to have some use of Natural Reason. Where- 
unto, if afterwards there might be added the right helps of true 
Art and Learning (which helps, I must plainly confess, this age 
of the World, carrying the name of a Learned Age, doth neither 
much know, nor greatly regard), there would undoubtedly be 



136 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

almost as great difference in maturity of judgement between men 
therewith inured, and that which now men are, as between men 
that are now, and Innocents. Which speech, if any condemn, as 
being over Hyperbolical, let them consider but this one thing : 
No Art is at the first finding out so perfect as Industry may after 
make it : yet the very first Man that to any purpose knew the 
way we speak of, and followed it, hath alone thereby performed 
more, very near, in all parts of Natural Knowledge, then sithence 
in any one part thereof the whole World besides hath done. In 
the poverty of that other new devised aid, two things there are 
notwithstanding singular. Of marvellous quick dispatch it is, 
and doth shew them that have it, as much almost in three dayes, 
as if it had dwelt threescore years with them. Again, because 
the curiosity of Mans wit doth many times with peril wade far- 
ther in the search of things than were convenient ; the same is 
thereby restrained unto such generalities, as every where offering 
themselves, are apparent unto men of the weakest conceit that 
need be : So as following the Rules and Precepts thereof, we may 
find it to be an Art, which teacheth the way of speedy Discourse, 
and restraineth the mind of Man, that it may not wax overwise. 
Education and Instruction are the means, the one by use, the 
other by precept, to make our Natural Faculty of Reason both 
the better, and the sooner able to judge rightly between Truth 
and Error, Good and Evil. But at what time a man may be 
said to have attained so far forth the use of Reason, as sufficeth 
to make him capable of those Laws, whereby he is then bound to 
guide his actions : This is a great deal more easie for common 
sense to discern, than for any man by skill and learning to de- 
termine ; even as it is not in Philosophers, who best know the 
natui-e both of Fire and Gold, to teach what degree of the one 
will serve to purifie the other, so well as the Artizan (who doth 
this by fire) discerneth by Sense when the fire hath that degree 
of heat which sufficeth for his purpose. 

7. By Reason, Man attaineth unto the knowledge of things 
that are, and are not sensible ; it resteth therefore, that we search 
how Man attaineth unto the knowledge of such things unsensible, 
as are to be known, that they may be done. Seeing then that 
nothing can move, unless there be some end, the desire whereof 
provoketh unto motion : How should that Divine Power of the 
Soul, that Spirit of our Mind., as the Apostle termeth it, ever stir 
it self unto action, unless it have also the like spur ? The end 



RICHARD HOOKER. 137 

for which we are moved to work, is sometimes the goodness which 
we conceive of the very working it self, without any further re- 
spect at all ; and the cause that procureth action, is the meer 
desire of action, no other good besides being thereby intended. 
Of certain turbulent wits it is said, Illis quieta movere magna 
merces videhatwr. They thought the very disturbance of' things 
established, an hire sufficient to set them on work. Sometimes 
that which we do, is referred to a further end, without the desire 
whereof, Ave would leave the same undone ; as in their actions 
that gave Alms, to purchase thereby the praise of men. Man in 
Perfection of Nature, being made according to the likeness of his 
Maker, resembleth him also in the manner of working ; so that 
whatsoever we work as men, the same we do wittingly work, and 
freely : Neither are we, according to the manner of Natural 
Agents, any way so tyed, but that it is in our power to leave the 
things we do undone. The good which either is gotten by doing, 
or which consisteth in the very doing it self, causeth not action, 
unless apprehending it as good, we so like and desire it. That 
we do unto any such end, the same we choose and prefer before 
the leaving of it undone. Choice there is not, unless the thing 
which we take, be so in our power, that we might have refused 
and left it. If fire consume the stubble, it chooseth not so to do, 
because the nature thereof is such that it can do no other. To 
choose, is to Avill one thing before another ; and to will, is to bend 
our Souls to the having or doing of that which they see to be 
good. Goodness is seen with the Eye of the Understanding, 
aud the Light of that Eye is Keason : So that two Principal 
Fountains there are of Humane Action, Knoivledge and Will; 
which Will, in things tending towards any end, is termed Choice. 
Concerning Knowledge ; BeJiold, saith Moses, I have set before you 
this day good and evil, life and death. Concerning Will, he 
addeth immediately. Choose life ; that Is to say, the things that 
tend imto life, them choose : But of one thing we must have 
special care, as being a matter of no small moment, and that is. 
How the Will, properly and strictly taken, as it is of things which 
are referred unto the end that man desireth, difi^ereth greatly 
fi'om that inferiour natural desire which we call Appetite. The 
object of Appetite is, whatsoever sensible good may be wished 
for ; the object of Will is, that good which Reason doth lead us 
to seek. Affections, as Joy, and Grief, and Fear, and Anger, 
with such like, being, as it were, the siindry fashions and forms 



1B8 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

of Appetite, can neither rise at the conceit of a thing Indifferent, 
nor yet choose but rise at the sight of some things. Wherefore 
it is not altogether in our power, whether we will be stirred with 
Affections, or no. Whereas Actions which issue from the dispo- 
sition of the Will, are in the Power thereof to be performed or 
stayed. Finally, Appetite is the Wills Solicitor, and the Will Is 
Appetites Controller ; what we covet according to the one, by 
the other we often reject : Neither is any other desire termed 
properly Will, but that where Reason and Understanding, or the 
shew of Reason, prescribeth the thing desired. It may be there- 
fore a question, Whether those operations of men are to be 
counted voluntary, wherein that good which is sensible, provoketh 
Appetite, and Appetite causeth Action, Reason being never called 
to counsel ; as when we eat or drink, or betake ourselves unto 
rest, and such like. The truth is, that such actions In men having 
attained to the use of Reason, are voluntary : For as the Author- 
ity of higher Powers, hath force even in those things which are 
done without their privity, and are of so mean reckoning, that 
to acquaint them therewith It needeth not : In like sort, volun- 
tarily "we are said to do that also, which the Will, If It listed, 
might hinder from being donje, although about the doing thereof, 
we do not expresly use our Reason or Understanding, and so 
immediately apply our Wills thereunto. In cases therefore of 
such facility, the Will doth yield her assent, as It were, with a 
kind of silence, by not dissenting ; In which respect her force Is 
not so apparent as In express Mandates or Prohibitions, especially 
upon advice and consultation going before. Where Understand- 
ing therefore needeth In those things, Reason is the Director of 
Mans Will, by discovering in Action what is good : For the Laws 
of Well-doing are the Dictates of right Reason, Children which 
are not as yet come unto those years whereat they may have ; 
again. Innocents, which are excluded by Natural Defect from ever 
having ; Thirdly, Mad-men, which for the present cannot possibly 
have the use of right Reason to guide themselves, have for their 
Guide the Reason that guideth other men, which are Tutors over 
them, to seek and to procure their good for them. In the rest, 
there is that Light of Reason, whereby good may be known from 
evil ; and which discovering the same rightly. Is termed right. 
The Will notwithstanding, doth not incline to have, or do that 
which Reason teacheth to be good, unless the same do also teach 
it to be jJossible. For albeit the Appetite, being more general, 



RICHARD HOOKER. 139 

may wish any thing whicli seemeth good, be it never so impossi- 
ble ; yet for such things, the reasonable Will of Man doth never 
seek. Let Reason teach impossibility in any thing, and the Will 
of Man doth let it go ; a thing impossible it doth not affect, the 
impossibility thereof being manifest. There is in the Will of 
Man, naturally that freedom, whereby it is apt to take or refuse 
any particular object whatsoever, being presented unto it. 
Whereupon it foUoweth, That there is no particular object so 
good, but it may have the shew of some dlfHculty or unpleasant 
quality annexed to it ; in respect whereof, the Will may shrink 
and decline It : contrariwise (for so things are blended) there 
is no particular evil which hath not some appearance of goodness 
whereby to insinuate itself: For evil, as evil, caimot be desired ; 
if that be desired which is evil, the cause Is the goodness which 
is, or seemeth to be joyned with It. Goodness doth not move by 
being, but by being apparent ; and therefore many things are 
neglected which are most precious, only because the value of 
them lyeth hid. Sensible Goodness is most apparent, near, and 
present ; which causeth the Appetite to be therewith strongly 
provoked. Now Pursuit and Refusal in the Will do follow, the 
one the Affirmation, the other the Negation of Goodness ; which 
the Understanding apprehendeth, grounding it self upon Sense, 
unless some higher Reason do chance to teach the contrary. And 
if Reason have taught it rightly to be good, yet not so apparently, 
that the Mind recelveth it with utter impossibility of being other- 
wise, still there is place left for the Will to take or leave. 
Whereas therefore, amongst so many things as are to be done, 
there are so few, the goodness whereof, Reason in such sort doth, 
or easily can discover, we are not to marvel at the choice of evil, 
even then when the contrary is probably known. Hereby it 
cometh to pass, that Custom inuring the Mind by long practice, 
and so leaving there a sensible Impression, prevaileth more than 
reasonable Perswasion what way soever. Reason therefore may 
rightly discern the thing which is good, and yet the Will of Man 
not incline it self thereunto, as oft as the prejudice of sensible 
Experience doth oversway : Nor let any Man think, that this 
doth make any thing for the just excuse of Iniquity ; for there 
was never sin committed, wherein a less good was not preferred 
before a greater, and that wilfully ; which cannot be done with- 
out the singular disgi-ace of Nature, and the utter disturbance 
of that Divine Order, whereby the preheminence of chiefest 



140 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Acceptation is by the best things worthily challenged. There is 
not that good which concerneth us, but it hath evidence enough 
for it self, if Reason were diligent to search it out. Through neg- 
lect thereof, abused we are with the shew of that which is not ; 
sometimes the subtilty of Satan enveigling us, as it did Eve ; 
sometimes the hastiness of our Wills preventing the more consid- 
erate Advice of sound Reason, as in the Apostles, when they no 
sooner saw what they liked not, but they forthwith were desirous 
of fire from Heaven ; sometimes the very custom of evil making 
the heart obdurate against whatsoever instructions to the contrary, 
as in them, over whom our Saviour spake weeping, Q Jerusalem, 
how often, and thou ivouldst not f Still therefore that wherewith 
we stand blameable, and can no way excuse it, is, in doing evil, 
we preferr a less good before a greater, the greatness whereof is 
by Reason investigable, and may be known. The search of 
Knowledge is a thing painful ; and the painfulness of Knowledge 
is that which maketh the Will so hardly inclinable thereunto. 
The Root hereof, Divine Malediction ; whereby the Instruments 
being weakned, wherewithal the Soul (especially in reasoning) 
doth work, it preferreth rest in Ignorance before wearisom labour 
to know : For a spur of Diligence therefore, we have a natural 
thirst after Knowledge ingrafted in us. But by Reason of that 
original weakness in the Instruments, without which, the Under- 
standing part is not able in this World by discourse to work, the 
very conceit of jaainfulness is as a bridle to stay us. For which 
cause the Apostle, who knew I'ight well, that the weariness of the 
flesh is an heavy clog to the Will, striketh mightily upon this 
Key, Atvake thou that sleepest ; cast off all ivhich presseth down; 
tuatch, labour, strive to go forward, and to grow in knowledge. 

NOTES ON EXTRACT FROM HOOKER'S ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY. 

Book I. § 5. — The punctuating and the capitalizing are as in the edition of 
London, 1676. — At leastwise. This adverbial phrase, once common, has hecome 
ob.solete or abridged to at least. — Proceertetli. The 3 sing. pres. of verbs in Ih, 
with or withoHt the connecting vowel, seems to prevail at this period. In Raleigh 
(ed. 1677) the termination in s is not uncommon, but generally th is used. — 
Slie^ving ; A.-S. sceaunan and scaiuian. The two spellings of this vpord con- 
tinue to this day ; but inasmuch as the pronunciation is settled, it is better to 
write the wox'd exclusively according to that, show. — Desired. This word should 
betaken ■with are, the meaning being: "as are not desired for any other cavise 
than for knowledge it,<felf." Tlie arrangement of words in the sentence in the style 
of Hooker, is far from that which the uninHectional character of our language 
has since imposed. Tlie structure of the sentence still resembled more that found 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 141 

in inflected tongues, as the Latin and Anglo-Saxon. We find, tlius, the suhjecfc 
and the predicate often transposed, the predicate placed first ; and, also, the modifiers 
separated from the principal elements. See " Art of Composition," §§ 386-398, for 
principles of arrangement in Modern English. — It self, is written in this edition 
in two words, while himself is given as one word. 

6. Convpleat. The a as in supream in preceding section is orthographic ; the 
spelling with the final e. dispenses with this expedient. — Ai't, science and scientific 
art. — Jiitlgeinejit. The e of the stem word is still retained, as also in Eelltham, 
ed. of 1666 ; but in an edition of Chillingworth, in 1687, we &nd-jurjgment, as also 
knowledg, ackiioivledg. We find judg in Felltham, ed. of 1666, and over half a 
century afterwards in the best edited worlis. From the latter part of the seventeenth 
century we may regard the spelling of jiulgtnent as authorized by the best usage. — 
Innoceiits, intellectual imbeciles. — Sitlience, since. 

7. Gotten. This is in truth a double inflection, the en being superadded to the 
internal inflection. This final syllable, which had nearly fallen awaj', has been in 
recent usage revived to some extent. — Hviinane, human; the word »was spelled 
with the e till comparatively recent times. The two forms of the word are now 
appropriated to different meanings, and the accent on one is drawn back according 
to English analogy. — Wills solicitor'. The apostrophe to mark the possessive or 
genitive case seems not to have been introduced fully ; yet we find it not unfre- 
queutly in Raleigh, 1676. Even in the last century the apostrophe was often omitted. 
— Affect, to seek after. So in Galatians iv. 17, 18 : " They zealously affect j'ovi, 
but not well; yea, they would exclude you, that ye might affect them. But it is 
good to be zealously affected always in a good thing." — Preliemineiice, pre- 
eminence. — Enveigliiig, inveigling ; Old Fr. enveogler, to blind, to put out the 
eye, Lat. a6, privative, and oculus, the eye. — Discoux-se, discursive thought, 
reflection. 



7. WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE, 1564-1617. 

Of the early life of this prince of dram.atists not much to gratify an eager curiosity 
can be ascertained. The day of his birth is in doubt. Tlie parish record of Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, where his father lived his whole married life, attests 
the fact that he was baptized April 26th, 1564. There is a tradition that his death 
was on the same day of the month as his birth, and it is said it was common in that 
age to baptize children on the third day after their birth. As he died April 26th, 
1666, it has been accepted as most probable that he was born April 23d, 1564. 
His father was a man of respectability and competency, and doubtless gave his son 
William, in his earUer years, as good an education and training as the town of 
Stratford, with its grammar school, afforded. But when William was about fourteen 
years of age, the father became embarrassed, and, it is supposed, was constrained to 
place his son in some productive employment, by which his studies were interrupted. 
At the age of eighteen, William married Anne Hathaway, of Shottery, a village near 
Stratford, who was eight years older than himself. They had three children : one, a 
son, who died when a youth of eleven years ; the others, daughters, who married, one 
Dr. Hall, a physician, the other Thomas Quincy , a wine-merchant, both of Stratford. 
The three grandsons of the poet, by this last, his youngest daughter, died without 
issue, so that the family became extinct. This is about all that is known of the 
domestic history of the great dramatist. He is first known to us in his relations to 
the drama about the year 1589, when he appears as an actor in London. His life 
henceforth is devoted to the dramatic art. He is supposed to have abandoned the 
stage about 1604, and to have removed to his native town six or eight years after- 



142 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

wards. Here he died of a fever, and was buried on the north side of the chancel of 
Stratford church. 

Besides his dramatic com-positions, Shakespeare wrote several minor pieces, and 
also the following, which had in his own times great celebrity : " Venus and 
Adonis," published in 1593; " Lucrece," in 1594 ; " Sonnets," in 1609. His dramas 
have been arranged in respect of date, in the following order, by Mr. White, Boston, 
ed. 1865 :— 

Titus Andronicus 1587-1589 

Love's Labor's Lost, 1588-1589 

Comedy of Errors 1589 

Two Gentlemen of Verona . . . . . , . 1539-1590 

King Henry VI., Parts I., II., and III 1590-1591 

King Kichard III 1593 

Midsummer Night's Dream 1594 

Merchant of Venice 1594 

KingJlichard II 1594r-1595 

Komeo and Juliet 1593 

King John 1596 

KingHenry IV., Parti 1596 

King Henry IV., Part II 1597 

Much Ado about Nothing ... . 1598-1599 

King Henry V 1.599 

As You Like It 1599 

Hamlet 1600 

Taming of the Shrew . . . . . . . . 1601 

Pericles 1602 

Merry Wives of Windsor 1608 

Measure for Measure ... . 1603-1604 

All's Well that Ends Well .... . . 1604 

King Lear 1605 

Timon of Athens 1605-1607 

Macbeth 1605 

Julius Csesar . \ 

Antony and Cleopatra > 1605-1608 

Troilus and Cressida ) 

Twelfth Night 1609 

Cymbeliiie ■j 

Coriolanus V 1609-1611 

Othello ) 

Winter's Tale J611 

Tempest 1611 

King Henry VIII 1613 

Julius Cesar. This drama has been .selected out of the thirty-seven plays 
now accepted as genuine compositions of Shakespeare, for several reasons. First, the 
text is less corrupted by erring editors and critics, than that of any other pl.ay. " It 
is, I should think," says Prof. Craik in " The English of Shakespeare," London, 1857, 
whose work appeared some time after the selection for this work was determined 
upon, " of all the plays, by much the easiest to edit." Secondly, the play is more 
than any other free from what might be in this more fastidious .age regarded as 
grossness of expression. Nothing occurs which need offend the most refined deli- 
cacy of feeling. Thirdly, and chiefly, it is believed to be incomparably the best 
study as a product of the highest art. If it fall behind some other of the plays in 
some specific characteristics, — if it be inferior in playfulness of imagination to the 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 143 

bewitching comedy of the Tempest, if it do not plunge quite so deep into the abysses 
of human passion and to such degree overwhelm with its tragic violence as Macbeth, 
or Othello, or Lear, if the plot, the story, do not lay its hold so unrelaxingly on the 
Interest of the superficial reader, so that the frigid Johnson thought it "somewhat 
cold and unaffecting," yet, tried by the most perfect standard of artistic power and 
excellence, it must be pronounced to be unsurpassed by any. In conformity to 
historic truth, in felicitous choice of character and incident, in skillful rendering of 
idea both in march of plot and fitness of diction, it certainly is nowhere excelled. 
But in respect to the highest excellence of dramatic art, and in its highest form, in 
which the governing end is to represent character in the broadest and deepest ca- 
pacities of human nature, and its largest and completest outworkiugs, in which also 
this design is wrought out in highest skill of execution, the Julius Csesar stands 
foremost among the productions of the great dramatist. Here it rivals the best 
models of Grecian art. In that lower species of dramatic composition in which 
character is subordinated to the story and the plot, there may be more to interest and 
fascinate a mind that seeks only excitement of passion in art ; and such minds may 
with Johnson pronounce upon the Julius Csesar, that they are not " strongly agi- 
tated in perusing it, and think it somewhat cold and unaffecting, compared with 
some other of Shakespeare's plays." Such a criticism is what might be expected 
from one so insensible to form in art that he confessed he could never see any resem- 
blance between a portrait and its original. It is not by any means the highest order 
of criticism. That species of dramatic art in which the story is held in subordina- 
tion to the exhibition of character is the higher of the two ; and to this species the 
Julius Csesar belongs. It engages the imagination more and passion less, as highest 
art should, and ever does. There is reason for believing that Shakespeare threw 
into the production of this play more of study and a more protracted interest than 
into any other. The fact of the many allusions to Csesar in his other plays indicates 
that the story of this play was long a study with him, as a subject of dramatic art ; 
and it is not irrational to suppose that his ever active mind was thus long in shaping 
the tragedy in which he embodied his creative work. 

The character of Brutus must be received as the subject of the play. To the un- 
folding of this in its elements and workings the whole is shaped. But Brutus to 
Shakespeare was the perfect man under Roman conditions. Its conclusion sums up 
the whole : " This ivas a man,'''' — a true man, a perfect man. The character of 
Brutus is so exhibited as perfect in this drama. If a weakness is suffered to appear, 
it is only to display the better the greatness and the nobleness of the character 
which had its growth and manifestation in a world of imperfection, and which could 
not be separated from its conditions, or be truthfully represented apart from its sur- 
roundings. Brutus was eminently a man of the world ; there was nothing unreal 
about him. The blemishes in his character are but the touches of the imperfect 
world in which he lived. The Brutus of the play is unselfish, just, magnanimous, 
patriotic ; he is thoughtful, trustful, ingenuous; he is affectionate, gentle, kind, yet 
firm, bold, energetic. He has all the parts of imaginable human perfection. But 
his perfection is under Roman conditions. His virtue culminated in patriotism. 
His country was the horizon of his hopes and affections. To him was nothing higher, 
nothing beyond ; there was no God, no hereafter. Hence he was a suicide ; — a 
suicide not of the Cato order — for which he expresses only contempt and pity, a 
suicide as fugitive from resistless evil; he held it base in man to yield to suffering of 
any kind. But he was a suicide, because, his country gone, there was no more for 
Brutus ; nothing to love, nothing to strive for, nothing to live for, nothing to die 
for, since to Brutus there was no ever living God, no retributive immortaUty. Brutus 
was a perfect man, perfect however, only on Roman, not Christian conditions. All 
that could be summed up of him was : " This was the noblest Roman.'''' 



144 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

While Brutus is the commanding figure pictured in the play, in which we find the 
principle of unity and of method, and to which all else is but subordinate and sub- 
servient, and the only allowable interpretation and study of the drama must be that 
which has its eye fixed on Brutus as the central and governing object, the poet has 
with much masterly skill given distinctness and prominence to this leading character 
by means of happy contrasts with other subordinate characters which, with the 
same historic fidelity and the same artistic power, he has introduced into his picture. 
Brutus is eminently objective. His whole nature is outgoing. It is true that 
Shakespeare does not forget that as a man he is a subject of free growth, and hence 
of self-culture, and therefore makes him so far introspective as to see that his actions 
are the proper outgrowths of a true manhood. But beyond this necessary self- 
scrutiny, all is objective with Brutus. Indeed, in the most perfect unselfishness he 
lives in and for his country, his friends, his kindred, studying and striving for them, 
not for himself, and accordingly confiding in them with never a questioning of mis- 
trust, or jealousy, or envy. The great commanding ends of Brutus's life were out of 
himself. Making this to stand out in highest relief, are the other chief characters 
of the play — Cassius, CsBsar, and Antony — introduced, all in their diverse ways 
and their diverse degrees directly opposite, the shades of the picture answering to 
the lights in the leading figure. They are characteristically subjective, but with 
diversified modifications. Cassius is least so ; he is patriotic, he is friendly ; he 
seeks his country's honor and interest ; he confides in his friends. But his patriot- 
ism is of that imperfect order which circumscribes country by the lines of self-inter- 
est. He professes and honestly professes his country's welfare as his end; he seems 
to be prompted by patriotic demands and tries all his plans by the test of Rome's 
true honor and prosperity ; but he sees, he judges, he acts, while professedly and 
truly for his country, ever in the light of self, and for self. Cassius is ever a goal 
to him beyond liberty. So everywhere is he a type of that class of men whose 
TU'tue is cast in molds of selfishness. He is accordingly ever suspicious, distrustful, 
envious, intriguing, fretful, " waspish." Cassar is outspoken, professed selfishness. 
He is all self — self-end, self-medium. "Always Jam Csesar," and Csesar is I. 
Antony still further is mere self with no end, no medium ; a blind passion, an un- 
principled profligate. We have thus this gradation in the four principal characters : 
Brutus, purely objective, utterly unselfish; Cassius, subjective, selfish, but pure in 
his proposed end and motive, which yet are seen only through the medium of self; 
Csesar, rationally selfish, and purely, professedly, honestly so ; Antony, irrationally 
selfish, not even professedly so, nor indeed honestly, but only brutishly so. We have 
another principal character in this play. It is a gem of purest water ; one of 
Shakespeare's best creations. It is Portia — the perfect woman, always under Bo- 
man conditions ; purely unselfish, wholly objective, introspective only when she 
fears lest her devotion be too much outmeasured by the greatness of the object to 
which she was all devoted — all as woman that Brutus is as man. The eye, dazzled 
by the overpowering brightness of the sun, finds relief in the soft but pure efful- 
gence of this hardly lesser light. 

The merit, the artistic skill, the interest in this play are to be found in this match- 
less display of human character ; not in the story, in the plot, although the con- 
duct of the plot is faultless, as is the management of all the inferior characters and 
incidents of the play. No composition of Shakespeare will bear a closer study. 
Indeed, it would seem as if the immortal poet had in this play more than in any 
other aimed to dispense with all outside dazzle, and all the jugglery of scene and 
caricature, that he might construct a work which should engage and charm the pure 
imagination in its most contemplative mood , and engage and charm ever increasingly 
with increasing study. Thus a word often embodies a great principle of life ; a line 
reveals a whole great passion of human nature. We may well doubt whether Shake- 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 145 

speare's great tragic bosom ever heaved more deeply than when he penned that 
simple utterance : " Portia is dead." The ocean swell but dies out in the passionate 
exclamation of Cassius that follows. 

This reprint is from a fac-simile of the edition of " Shakespeare as put forth in 
1623." The alphabetic sounds now respectively represented by U and V were not 
distinguished at this period ; but the characters without respect to the sound were 
used, the v uniformly at the beginning of words, the u elsewhere ; thus : " And 
keepe vs all in seruile fearefulnesse." The character J^was not in use ; the /being 
everywhere used. The play was not in the first edition divided into scenes. For 
convenience of reference the usual division is here followed. 

THE TRAGEDIE OF IVLIVS C^SAE. 

ACTUS PRIMUS. SCCENA PRIMA. 

Enter Ftauius, Murellus, mid certaine Commoners ouer the Stage. 

Flauius, Hence : home you idle Creatures, get you home : 
Is this a Holiday ? What, know you not 
(Being Mechanicall) you ought not walke 
Vpon a labouring day, without the signe 
Of your Profession ? Speake, what Trade art thou ? 

Car. Why, Sir, a Carpenter. 

Mur. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule ? 
What dost thou with thy best Apparrell on ? 
You sir, what Trade are you ? 

Cobl. Truely, Sir, in respect of a fine Workman, I am but 
as you would say, a Cobler. 

Alur. But what Trade art thou ? Answer me directly. 

Cob. A Trade Sir, that I hope I may vse, with a safe Con- 
science, which is indeed Sir, a Mender of bad soules. 

Fla. What Trade thou knaue '? Thou naughty kuaue, what 
Trade ? 

Cobl, Nay I beseech you Sir, be not out with me : yet if 
you be out Sir, I can mend you. 

Mur. What mean st thou by that ? Mend mee, thou sawcy 
Fellow ? 

Cob. Why Sir, Cobble you. 

Fla. Thou art a Cobler, art thou ? 

Cob. Truly sir, all that I Hue by, is with the Aule : I meddle 
with no Tradesmans matters, nor womens matters ; but withal I 
am indeed Sir, a Surgeon to old shooes : when they are in great 
danger, I recouer them. As proper men as euer trod vpon Neats 
Leather, haue gone vpon my handy-worke. 

Fla. But wherefore art not in thy Shop to-day ? 
W^hy do'st thou leade these men about the streets ? 
10 



146 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Cob. Truly sir, to weare out their shooes, to get my selfe 
into more worke. But indeede sir, we make Holyday to see 
Caesar, and to reioyce in his Triumph. 

Mur. Wherefore reioyce ? 
What Conquest brings he home ? 
What Tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in Captiue bonds his Chariot Wheeles ? 
You Blockes, you stones, you worse then senslesse thmgs : 
O you hard hearts, you cruell men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey many a time and oft ? 
Haue you climb'd vp to Walles and Battlements, 
To Towres and Windowes ? Yea, to Chimney tops, 
Your Infants in your Armes, and there haue sate 
The liue-long day, with patient expectation, 
To see great Poinpe]) passe the streets of Rome : 
And when you saw his Chariot but apjieare, 
Haue you not made an Vniuersall shout. 
That Tyber trembled vnderneath her bankes 
To heare the replication of your sounds, 
Made in her Concaue Shores ? 
And do you now put on your best attyre ? 
And do you now cull out a Holyday ? 
And do you now strew Flowers in his way, 
That comes in Triumph ouer Pompeyes blood ? 
Be gone, 

Runne to your houses, fall vpon your knees. 
Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this Ingratitude. 

Fla. Go, go, good Countrymen, and for this fault 
Assemble all the poore men of your sort ; 
Draw them to Tyber bankes, and weepe your teares 
Into the Channell, till the lowest streame 
Do kisse the most exalted Shores of all. 

\_Sxe%m,t all the Commoners. 

See where their basest mettle be not mou'd. 
They vanish tongue-tyed in their guiltinesse : 
Go you downe that way towards the CapitoU, 
This way will I : Disrobe the Images, 
If you do finde them deckt with Ceremonies. 

Mur. May we do so ? 
You know it is the Feast of Lupercall. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 147 

Fla. It is no matter, let no Images 
Be hung with Ccesars Trophees : He about, 
And driue away the Vulgar fi'om the streets ; 
So do you too, where you perceiue them thicke. 
These growing Feathers, pluckt from Ccesars wing, 
Will make him flye an ordinary pitch. 
Who else would soare aboue the view of men, 
And keepe vs all in seruile fearefulnesse. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 

Enter CcBsar , Antony for the Course, Calphurnta,Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cas- 
sius, Caska, a Soothsayer : after them Murellus and Flauius. 

Cces. Calplmrnia. 

Cask. Peace ho, Ccesar speakes. 

Cces. Calphurnia. 

Calp. Heere my Lord. 

Cces. Stand you directly in Antonio^ s way, 
When he doth run his course. Antonio. 

Ant. Ccesar, my Lord. 

Cces. Forget not in your speed, Antonio, 
To touch Calphurnia : for our Elders say, 
The Barren touched in this holy chace, 
Shake off their sterrile curse. 

Ant. I shall remember. 
When CcBsar sayes, Do this ; it is perform'd. 

Cces. Set on, and leaue no Ceremony out. 

Sooth. Ccesar. 

Cces. Ha ? Who calles ? 

Cask. Bid euery noyse be still : peace yet againe. 

Cces. Who is it in the presse, that calles on me ? 
I heare a Tongue shriller then all the Musicke 
Cry, Ccesar : Speake, Ccesar is turn'd to heare. 

Sooth. Beware the Ides of March. 

Cces. What man is that ? 

Br. A Sooth-sayer bids you beware the Ides of March. 

Cces. Set him before me, let me see his face. 

Cassi. Fellow, come from the throng, look vpon Ccesar. 

Cces. What sayst thou to me now ? Speak once againe. 

Sooth. Beware the Ides of March. 

Cces. He is a Dreamer, let vs leaue him : Passe. 

Sennet. [Exeunt. Manet Brut. Sf Cass. 

Casst. Will you go see the order of the course ? 



148 KEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Brut. Not T. 

Cassi. I pray you do. 

Brut. I am not Gamesom : I do lacke some part 
Of that quicke Spirit that is in Antony: 
Let me not hinder Cassius your desires ; 
He leaue you. 

Cassi. Brutus, I do obserue you now of late : 
I haue not from your eyes, that gentlenesse 
And shew of Loue, as I was wont to haue : 
You beare too stubborne and too strange a hand 
Ouer your Friend, that loues you. 

Bru. Cassius, 
Be not deceiu'd : If I haue veyl'd my looke, 
I turne the trouble of my Countenance 
Meerely vpon my selfe. Vexed I am 
Of late, with passions of some difference, 
Conceptions onely proper to mj^ selfe. 
Which giue some soyle (perhajis) to my Behauiours : 
But let not therefore my good Friends be greeu'd 
(Among which number Cassius be you one) 
Nor construe any further my neglect, 
Then that poore Brutus with himselfe at warre, 
Forgets the shewes of Loue to other men. 

Cassi. Then Brutus, I haue much mistook your passion, 
By meanes whereof, this Brest of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy Cogitations. 
Tell me good Brutus, Can you see your face ? 

Brutus. No Cassius: 
For the eye sees not it selfe but by reflection, 
By some other things. 

Cassius, 'Tis iust, 
And it is very much lamented Brutus, 
That you haue no such Mirrors, as will turne 
Your hidden worthinesse into your eye, 
That you might see your shadow : 
I haue heard, 

Where many of the best respect in Eome, 
(Except immortall Cccsar) speaking of Brutus, 
And groaning vnderneath this Ages yoake, 
Haue wish'd, that Noble Brutus had his eyes. 

B7-U. Into what dangers, would you 
Leade me, Cassius ? 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 149 

That you would haue me seeke into my selfe, 
For that which is not in me ? 

Cus. Therefore good Brutus, be prepar'd to heare : 
And since you know, you cannot see your selfe, 
So well as by Reflection ; I your Glasse, 
Will modestly discouer to your selfe 
That of your selfe, which you yet know not of. 
And be not iealous on me, gentle Brutus : 
Were I a common Laughter, or did vse 
To stale with ordinary Oathes my loue 
To euery new Protester : if you know. 
That I do fawne on men, and hugge them hard, 
And after scandall them : Or if you know, 
That I professe my selfe in Banquetting, 
To all the llout, then hold me dangerous. 

Flourish, mid Shovt. 

Bru. Y/hat meanes this Showting ? 
I do feare, the People choose Ccesar 
For their king. 

Cassi. T, do you feare it ? 
Then must I thinke you would not haue it so. 

Bru. I would not Cassias, yet I loue him well : 
But wherefore do you hold me heere so long ? 
What is it, that you would impart to me ? 
If it be ought toward the generall good. 
Set Plonor in one eye, and Death i' th other, 
And I will looke on both indifferently : 
For let the Gods so speed niee, as I loue 
Tlie name of Honor, more then I feare deth. 

Cassi. I know that vertue to be in you Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward fauour. 
Well, Honor is the sublect of my Story : 
I cannot tell, what you and other men 
Thinke of this life : But for my single selfe, 
I had as liefe not be, as liue to be' 
In awe of such a Thing, as I my selfe. 
I was borne free as Coisar, so were you. 
We both haue fed as well, and we can both 
Endure the Winters cold, as well as hee. 
For once, vpon a Ilawe and Gustie day, 



150 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

The troubled Tyber, chafing with her Shores, 

CcEsar saide to me, Dar'st thou Cassius now 

Leape in with me into this angry Flood, 

And swim to yonder Point ? Vpon the word, 

Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 

And bad him follow : so indeed he did. 

The Torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 

With lusty Sinewes, throwing it aside. 

And stemming it with hearts of Controuersie. 

But ere we could arriue the Point propos'd, 

CcBsar cride, Helpe me Cassius, or I sinke. 

I (as ^7ieas, our great Ancestor, 

Did from the Flames of Troy, vpon his shoulder 

The old Anchyses beare) so, from the waues of Tyber 

Did I the tyred Ccesar : And this Man, 

Is now become a God, and Cassius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body. 

If Ccesar carelesly but nod on him. 

He had a Feauer when he was in Spaine, 

And when the Fit was on him, I did marke 

How he did shake : 'Tis true, this God did shake, 

His Coward lippes did from their colour flye, 

And that same Eye, whose bend doth awe the World, 

Did loose his Lustre : I did heare him grone : 

I, and that Tongue of his, that bad the Romans 

Marke him, and write his Speeches in their Bookes, 

Alas, it cried, Giue me some drinke Tilinius, 

As a sicke Girle : Ye Gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the Maiesticke world. 

And beare the Palme alone. 

Shout. Flourish. 

Bru. Another generall shout ? 
I do beleeue, that these applauses are 
For some new Honors, that are heap'd on Caesar. 

Cassi. Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
Walke vnder his huge Icgges, and peepe about 
To finde our selues dishonourable Graues. 
Men at sometime, are Masters of their Fates. 
The fault (deerc Brutus), is not in our Starres, 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 151 

But in our Selues, that we are vnderllngs. 
Brutus and Ccesar : What should be in that Ccesar f 
Why should that name be sounded more then yours ? 
Write them together : Yours, is as faire a Name : 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth aswell : 
Weigh them, it is as heauy : Coniure with 'em, 
Brutus will start a Spirit as soone as Ccesar. 
Now in the naaies of all the Gods at once, 
Vpon what meate doth this our Ccesar feede, 
That he is growne so great ? Age, thou art sham'd. 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of Noble Bloods. 
When went there by an Age, since the great Flood, 
But it was fam'd with more then with one man ? 
When could they say (till now) that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide Walkes incompast but one man r 
Now is it Rome indeed, and Roome enough 
When there is in it but one onely man. 

! you and I, haue heard our Fathers say. 
There was a Brutus once, that would haue brook'd 
Th'eternall Diuell to keepe his State in Rome, 

As easily as a King. 

Bi-u. That you do loue me, I am nothing iealous : 
What you would worke me too, I haue some ayme : 
How I haue thought of this, and of these times 

1 shall recount heereafter. For this present, 

I would not so (with loue I might intreat you) 

Be any further moou'd : What you haue said, 

I will consider : what you haue to say 

I will with patience heare, and finde a time 

Both meete to heare, and answer such high things. 

Till then, my Noble Friend, chew vpon this : 

Brutus had rather be a Villager, 

Then to repute himselfe a Sonne of Rome 

Vnder these hard Conditions, as this time 

Is like to lay vpon vs. 

Cassi. I am glad that my weake words 
Haue strucke but thus much shew of fire from Brutus. 

Enter Ctzsar and his Traine. 

Bru. The Games are done, 
And Ccesar is returning. 



152 KEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Cassi. As they passe by, 
Plucke Caslca by the Sleeue, 
And he -will (after his sowre fashion) tell you 
What hath proceeded worthy note to day. 

Bru. I will do so : but looke you Cassius, 
The angry spot doth glow on Cccsccrs brow. 
And all the rest, looke like a chidden Traine ; 
Calphurnia's Cheeke is pale, and Cicero 
Lookes with such Ferret, and such fiery eyes 
As we haue seene him in the Capitoll 
Being crost in Conference, by some Senators. 
Cassi. Caslca will tell vs what the matter is. 
Cces. Antonio. 
Ant. Ccesar. 

Cces. Let me haue men about me, that are fat, 
Sleeke-headed men, and such as sleepe a-nights : 
Yond Cassius has a leane and hungry looke, 
He thinkes too much : such men are dangei'ous. 

Ant, Feare him not CcBsar, he's not dangerous, 
He is a Noble Roman, and well giuen. 

Cces. Would he were fatter ; But I feare him not : 
Yet if my name were lyable to feare, 
I do not know the man I sh.ould auoyd 
So soone as that spare Cassius. He reades much, 
He is a great Obseruer, and he lookes 
Quite through the Deeds of men. He loues no Playes, 
As thou dost Antony: he heares no Musicke ; 
Seldome he smiles, and smiles in such a sort 
As if he mock'd himselfe, and scorn'd his spirit 
That could be mou'd to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he, be neuer at hearts ease, 
Whiles they behold a greater then themselues. 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd. 
Then what I feare : for alwayes I am Ccesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this eare is deafe, 
And tell me truely, what thou think'st of him. Sennit, 

[Exeunt Cxsar and his Traine. 

Cask. You pul'd me by the cloake, would you speake with me ? 
Bru. I Caslca, tell vs what hath chanc'd to day 
That Ccesar lookes so sad. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 153 

Cask. Why you were with him, were you not ? 

Bru. I should not then aske Caska what had chanc'd. 

Cask. Wliy there was a Crowne ofFer'd him ; & being offer'd 
him, he put it by with the backe of his hand thus, and then the 
people fell a shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noyse for ? 

Cask. Why for that too. 

Cassi. They shouted thrice : what was the last cry for ? 

Cask. Why for- that too. 

Bru. Was the Crowne offer'd him thrice ? 

Cask. I marry was't, and hee put it by thrice, euerle time 
gentler then other ; and at euery putting by, mine honest Neigh- 
bors showted. 

Cassi. Who ofFer'd him the Crowne ? 

Cask. Why Anton7j. 

Bru. Tell vs the manner of it, gentle Caska. 

Caska. I can as well bee hang'd as tell the manner of It : It 
was meere Foolerle, I did not marke it. I sawe Marke Antony 
offer him a Ci'owne, yet 'twas not a Crowne neyther, 'twas one of 
these Coronets : and as I told you, hee put it by once : but for 
all that, to my thinking, he would faine haue had It. Then hee 
offered It to him againe : then hee put it by againe : but to 
my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And 
then he offered It the third time ; hee put It the third time by, 
and still as hee refus'd it, the rabblement howted, and clapp'd 
their chopt hands, and threw vppe their sweatie Night-cappes 
and vttered such a deale of stinking breath, because Ccesar refus'd 
the Crowne, that It had (almost) choaked Ccesar : for hee 
swoonded, and fell downe at It : And for mine owne part, I 
durst not laugh, for feare of opening my LIppes, and receyuing 
the bad Ayre. 

Cassi. But sofl I pray you : what, did Ccesar swound ? 

Cask. He fell downe In the Market-place', and foam'd at 
mouth, and was speechlesse. 

Brut. 'TIs very like he hath the Falling sicknesse. 

Cassi. No, Coisar hath It not : but you, and I, 
And honest Caska, we haue the Falling sicknesse. 

Cask. I know not what you meane by that , but I am sure 
Ccesar fell downe. If the tag-ragge people did not clap him, and 
hisse him, according as he pleas'd, and displeas'd them, as they 
vse to doe the Players In the Theatre, I am no true man. 



154 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Brut. What said he, when he came vnto himselfe ? 

Caslc. Marry, before he fell downe, when he perceiu'd the 
common Heard was glad he refus'd the Crowne, he pluckt me 
ope his Doublet, and oiFer'd them his Throat to cut : and I had 
beene a man of any Occupation, if I would not haue taken him 
at a word, I would I might goe to Hell among the Rogues, and 
so hee fell. "When he came to himselfe againe, hee said, If hee had 
done, or said any thing amisse, he desir'd their Worships to thinke 
it was his infirmitie. Three or foure Wenches where I stood, cryed, 
Alasse, good Soule, and forgaue him with all their hearts : But 
there's no heed to be taken of them ; if Ccesar had stab'd their 
mothers, they would haue done no lesse. 

Brut. And after that, he came thus sad away. 

Cask. I. 

Cassi. Did Cicero say any thing ? 

Cask. I, he spoke Greeke. 

Cassi. To what effect ? 

Cask. Nay, and I tell you that, lie ne're look you i' th' face 
againe. But those that vnderstood him, smii'd at one another, 
and shooke their heads : but for mine owne part, it was Greeke 
to me. I could tell you more newes too : Murrellus and Flauius, 
for pulling scarffes oiF Cccsars images, are put to silence. Fare 
you well. There was more Foolerie yet, if I could remember it. 

Cassi. Will you suppe with me to Night, Caska ? 

Cask. No, I am promis'd forth. 

Cassi. Will you Dine with me to morrow ? 

Cask. I, if I be alive, and your minde hold, and your Dinner 
worth the eating. 

Cassi. Good, I will expect you. 

Cask. Doe so : farewell both. [Exit. 

Brut. What a blunt fellow is this growne to be ? 
He was quick Mettle, when he went to Schoole. 

Cassi. So is he now, in execution 
Of any bold, or Noble Enterprise, 
How-euer he puts on this tardie forme : 
This Rudenesse is a Sawce to his good Wit, 
Which giues men stomacke to disgest his words 
With better Appetite. 

Brut. And so it is : 
For this time I will leaue you : 
To morrow, if you please to speake with me, ' . 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 155 

I will come home to you : or if you will, 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 

Cassi. I will doe so : till then, thinke of the World. 

[Exit Brutus. 

Well Brutus, thou art Noble : yet I see, 

Thy Honorable Mettle may be wrought 

From that it is dispos'd : therefore it is meet. 

That Noble mindes keepe euer with their likes : 

For who so firme, that cannot be seduc'd ? 

Ccesar doth beare me hard, but he loues Brutus. 

If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 

He should not humor me. I will this Night, 

In seuerall Hands, in at his Windowes throw, 

As if they came from seuerall Citizens, 

Writings, all tending to the great opinion 

That Rome holds of his name : wherein obscurely 

Ccesars Ambition shall be glanced at. 

And after this, let Ccesar seat him sure, 

For wee will shake him, or worse dayes endure. [Exit. 



Thunder, and Lightning. Enter Caska, and Cicero. 

Cic. Good euen, Caska : brought you Ccesar home ? 
Why are you breathlesse, and why stare you so ? 

Cask. Are not you mou'd, when all the sway of Earth 
Shakes, like a thing vnfirme ? O Cicero, 
I haue scene Tempests, when the scolding Winds 
Haue riu'd the knottie Oakes, and I haue scene 
Th' ambitious Ocean swell, and rage, and foame, 
To be exalted with the threatning Clouds ; 
But neuer till to Night, neuer till now. 
Did I goe through a Tempest-dropping-fire. 
Eyther there is a Cluill strife in Heauen, 
Or else the World, too sawcie with the Gods, 
Incenses them to send destruction. 

Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderfull ? 

Cask. A common slaue, you know him well by sight, 
Held vp his left Hand, which did flame and burne 
Like twentie torches ioyn'd ; and yet his Hand, 
Not sensible of fire, remain'd vnscorch'd. 
Besides, I ha'not since put vp my Sword, 



156 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Against the Capitol! I met a Lyon, 
Who glar'd vpon me, and went surly by, 
AVithout annoying me. And there were drawne 
Vpon a heajie, a hundred gastly women, 
Transformed with their feare, who swore, they saw 
Men, all in fire, walk vp and downe the streetes. 
And yesterday, the Bird of Night did sit, 
Euen at Noone-day, vpon the Market-place, 
Howting, and shreeking. When these Prodigies 
Doe so conioyntly meet, let not men say. 
These are their Reasons, they are Naturall : 
For I beleeue, they are portentous things 
Vnto the Clymate, that they point vpon. 

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
But men may construe things after their fashion, 
Cleane from the purpose of the things themselues. 
Comes Ccesar to the Capitol! to morrow ? 

Cask. He doth : for he did bid Antonio 
Send word to you, he would be there to morrow. 

Cic. Good-night then, Casket : 
This disturbed Skie is not to walke in. 

Cask. Farewell Cicero. [Exit dcero. 

Enter Cassius. 

Cassi. Who's there ? 

Cask. A Komane. 

Cassi. Caska, by your Voyce. 

Cask. Your Eare is good. 
Cassius, what Night is this ? 

Cassi. A very pleasing Night to honest men. 

Cask. Who euer knew the Heauens menace so ? 

Cassi. Those that haue knowne the Earth so full of faults. 
For my part, I haue walk'd about the streets, 
Submitting me vnto the perillous Night ; 
And tlius vnbraced, Caska, as you see, 
Haue bar'd my Bosome to the Thunder-stone : 
And when the crosse blew Lightning seem'd to open 
The Brest of Heauen, I did present my selfe 
Euen in the ayme, and very flash of it. 

Cask. But wlierefore did you so much tempt the Heauens ? 
It is the part of men, to feare and tremble. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 157 

When the most mightie Gods, by tokens send 
Such dreadful Heraulds, to astonish vs. 

Cassi. You are dull, Caska : 
And those spai'kes of Life, that should be in a Roman, 
You doe want, or else you vse not. 
You looke pale, and gaze, and put on feare, 
And cast your selfe in wonder, 
To see the strange impatience of the Ileauens : 
But if you would consider the true cause, 
Wiiy all these Fires, why all these gliding Ghosts, 
Why Birds and Beasts, from qualitie and kinde, 
Why Old men, Fooles, and Children calculate, 
Why all these things change from their Ordinance, 
Their Natures, and pre-formed Faculties, 
To monstrous qualitie ; why you shall finde, 
That Heauen hath infus'd them with these Spirits, 
To make them Instruments of feare, and warning, 
Vnto some monstrous State. 
Now could I (^Caska) name to thee a man. 
Most like this dreadfull Night, 
That Thunders, Lightens, opens Graues and roares, 
As doth the Lyon in the Capitoll : 
A man no mightier then thy selfe, or me, 
In personall action ; yet prodigious growne, 
And fearefiiil, as these strange eruptions are. 

Cask. 'Tis Ccesar that you meane : 
Is it not, Cassius ? 

Cassi. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 
Haue Thewes, and Limbes, like to their Ancestors ; 
But woe the while, our Fathers mindes are dead. 
And we are gouern'd with our Mothers spirits, 
Our yoake, and sufferance shew vs Womanish. 

Cask. Indeed, they say, the Senators to morrow 
Meane to establish Ccesar as a King : 
And he shall weare his Crowne by Sea, and Land, 
In euery place, saue here in Italy. 

Cassi. I know where I will weare this Dagger then ; 
Cassius from Bondage will deliuer Cassius : 
Therein, yee Gods, you make the weake most strong ; 
Therein, yee Gods, you Tyrants doe defeat. 
Nor Stonie Tower, nor Walls of beaten Brasse, 



158 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Nor ayre-less Dungeon, nor strong Linkes of Iron, 

Can be retentiue to the strength of spirit : 

But Life being wearie of these worldly Barres, 

Neuer lacks power to dismisse it selfe. 

If I know this, know all the World besides, 

That part of Tyrannic that I doe beare, 

I can shake off at pleasure. [ Thunder still. 

Cask. So can I : 
So euery Bond-man in his owne hand beares 
The power to cancell his Captiuitie. 

Cassi. And why should Ccesar be a Tyrant then ? 
Poore man, T know he would not be a Wolfe, 
But that he sees the Romans are but Sheepe : 
He were no Lyon, were not Romans Hindes. 
Those that with haste will make a mightie fire. 
Begin it with weake Strawes. What trash is Rome ? 
What Rubbish, and what Offall ? when it serues 
For the base matter, to illuminate 
So vile a thing as Ccesar. But oh Griefe, 
Where hast thou led me ? I (perhaps) speake this 
Before a willing Bond-man : then I know 
My answere must be made. But I am arm'd, 
And dangers ai-e to me indifferent. 

Cask. You speake to Caska, and to such a man, 
That is no flearing Tell-tale. Hold, my Hand : 
Be factious for redresse of all these Griefes, 
And I will set this foot of mine as farre. 
As who goes farthest. 

Cassi. There's a Bargaine made. 
Now know you, Caska, I haue mou'd already 
Some certaine of the Noblest minded Romans 
To vndei'-goe, with me, an Enterprize, 
Of Honorable dangerous consequence ; 
And I doe know by this, they stay for me 
In Pompeyes Porch : for now this fearefuU Night, 
There is no stirre, or walking in the streetes ; 
And the Comjilexion of the Element 
Is Fauors, like the Worke we haue in hand, 
Most bloodie, fierie, and most terrible. 

Enter Cinna. 

Caska. Stand close a while; for heere comes one In haste. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 159 

Caasi. 'Tis Cinna, I doe know him by his Gate, 
He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so ? 

Cinna. To finde out you : Who's that, Metellus Cymher f 

Cassi. No, it is Caska, one incorporate 
To our Attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna ? 

Cinna. I am glad on't. 
What a fearefuU Night is this ? 
There's two or three of vs haue seene strange sights. 

Cassi. Am I not stay'd for ? tell me. 

Cinna. Yes, you are, O Cassius, 
If you could but winne the Noble Brutus 
To our party 

Cassi. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this Paper, 
And looke you lay it in the Pretoi's Chayre, 
Where Brutus may but finde it : and throw this 
In at his Window ; set this vp with Waxe 
Vpon old Brutus Statue : all this done, 
Eepaire to Pompeyes Porch, where you shall finde vs. 
Is Decius Brutus and Trehonius there ? 

Cinna. All, but Metellus Cymher, and hee's gone 
To seeke you at your house. Well, I will hie, 
And so bestow these Papers as you bad me. 

Cassi. That done, repayre to Pompeyes Theater. 

[Exit Cinna. 

Come Caska, you and I will yet, ere day. 
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
Is ours alreadie, and the man entire 
Vpon the next encounter, yeelds him ours. 

Cask. O, he sits high in all the Peoples hearts : 
And that which would appeare Offence in vs. 
His Countenance, like richest Alchymie, 
Will change to Vertue, and to Worthinesse. 

Cassi. Him, and his worth, and our great need of him, 
You haue right well conceited : let vs goe, 
For It is after Mid-night, and ere day. 
We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt. 

ACTUS SECXJNDUS. 

SCEKE I. 

Enter Brutus in his Orchard. 

Brut. What Lucius, hoe ? 
I cannot, by the progresse of the Starres, 



160 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Giue guesse how neere to day — Lucius, I say ? 
I would it were ray fault to sleepe so soundly. 
When Lucius, when ? awake, I say : what Lucius f 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Call'd you, my Lord ? 

Brut. Get me a Tapor in my Study, Lucius : 
When it is liglited, come and call me here. 

Luc. I will, my Lord. [Exit. 

Brut. It must be by his death : and for my part, 
I know no personal! cause, to spurne at him, 
But for the generall. He would be crown'd : 
How that might change his nature, there's the question ? 
It is the briglit day, that brings forth the Adder, 
And that cranes warie walking : Crowne him that, 
And then I graunt we put a Sting in him, 
That at his will he may doe danger with. 
Th'abuse of Greatnesse, is, when it dis-ioynes 
Remorse from Power : And to speake truth of Ccesar, 
I haue not knowne, when his Affections sway'd 
More then his Reason. But 'tis a common proofe, 
That Lowlynesse is young Ambitions Ladder, 
Whereto the Climber vpward turnes his Face : 
But when he once attaines the vpmost Round, 
He then vnto the Ladder turnes his Backe, 
Lookes in the Clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend : so CcBsar may ; 
Then least he may, preuent. And since the Quarrell 
Will beare no colour, for the thing he is. 
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented, 
Would rimne to these, and these extremities : 
And therefore thinke him as a Serpents egge. 
Which hatch'd, would as his kinde grow mischieuous ; 
And kill him in the shell. 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. The Taper burnetii in your Closet, Sir : 
Searching the Window for a Flint, I found 
This Paper, thus seal'd up, and I am sure 
It did not lye there when I went to Bed. [ aiues him the Letter. 

Bi-ut. Get you to Bed againe, it is not day : 
Is not to morrow (Boy) the first of March ? 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 161 

Luc. I know not, Sir. 

Brut. Looke in the Calender, and bring me word. 
Luc. I will, Sir. [jexU. 

Brut. The exhalations, whizzing in the ayre, 
Giue so much light, that I may reade by them. 

[ Opens the Letter, and reades. 

Brutus tJiou sleep' St ; moake, and see thy selfe : 

Shall Rome, Sfc. Speake, strike, redresse. 

Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake. 

Such instigations haue beene often dropt, 

Where I haue took them vp : 

Shall Rome, S)X. Thus must I piece it out : 

Shall Rome stand vnder one mans awe ? What Rome ? 

My Ancestors did ft-om the streetes of Rome 

The Tarquin driue, when he was call'd a King. 

Speake, strike, redresse. Am I entreated 

To speake, and strike ? O Rome, I make thee promise, 

If the redresse will follow, thou receiuest 

Thy full Petition at the hand of Brutus. 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc, Sir, March is wasted fifteene dayes. [Knocke within. 

Brut. 'Tis good. Go to the Gate, some body knocks : 
Since Cassius first did whet me against Ccesar, 
I haue not slept. 

Betweene the acting of a dreadfull thing, 
And the first motion, all the Interim is 
Like a Phantasma, or a hideous Dreame : 
The Genius, and the mortall Instruments 
Are then in councell ; and the state of a man. 
Like to a little Kingdome, suffers then 
The nature of an Insurrection. 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the Doore, 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Brut. Is he alone ? 

I^uc. No, Sir, there are moe with him. 

Brut. Doe you know them ? 

Luc. No, Sir, their Hats are pluckt about their Eares, 
And halfe their Faces buried in their Cloakes, 
That by no meanes I may discouer them, 
By any marke of fauour. 
11 



162 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Brut. Let 'em enter : 
They are the Faction. O Conspiracie, 
Sham'st thou to shew thy dang'rons Brow by Night, 
When euills are most free ? O then, by day 
Where wilt thou finde a Cauerne darke enough, 
To maske thy monstrous Visage ? Seek none Conspiracie, 
Hide it In Smiles, and Affabilltle : 
For If thou path thy natlue semblance on, 
Not Erebus It selfe were dimme enough 
To hide thee from preuentlon. 

Enter the Conspirators, Cassius, Casha, Decius, Cinna, Metelhis, and Trebonhis. 

Cass. I thlnke we are too bold vpon your Rest : 
Good morrow Brutus, doe we trouble you ? 

Bmt. I haue beene vp this howre, awake all Night : 
Know I these men, that come along with you ? 

Cass. Yes, euery man of them ; and no man here 
But honore you : and euery one doth wish, 
You had but that opinion of your selfe, 
Which euery Noble Roman beares of you. 
This is Trebonius. 

Brut. He is welcome hither. 
Cass. This, Decius Brutus. 
Brut. He is welcome too. 

Cass. This, Caska ; this, Cinna ; and this, Metellus Cym~ 
her. 

Brut. They are all welcome. 
What watchfull Cares doe interpose themselues 
Betwixt your Eyes, and Night ? 

Cass. Shall I entreat a word ? [They ivMsper. 

Decius. Here lyes the East : doth not the Day breake heere ? 
Cask. No. 

Cin. O pardon. Sir, it doth ; and yon grey Lines, 
That fret the Clouds, are Messengers of Day. 

Cask. You shall confesse, that you are both deceiu'd : 
Heere, as I point my Sword, the Sunne arises, 
Which is a great way growing on the South, 
Weighing the youthfuU Season of the yeare. 
Some two moneths hence, vp higher toward the North 
He first presents his fire, and the high East 
Stands as the CapItoU, directly heere. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 163 

Bru. Glue me your hands all ouer, one by one. 

Cas. And let vs sweare our Resolution. 

Brut. No, not an Oath : if not the Face of men, 
The sufferance of our Soules, the times Abuse ; 
If these be Motiues weake, breake off betimes, 
And euery man hence, to his idle bed : 
So let high-sighted-Tyranny range on. 
Till each man drop by Lottery. But if these 
(As I am sure they do) beare fire enough 
To kindle Cowards, and to Steele with valour 
The melting Spirits of women. Then Countrymen, 
What neede we any spurre, but our owne cause. 
To pricke vs to redresse ? What other Bond, 
Then secret Romans, that haue spoke the word, 
And will not palter ? And what other Oath, 
Then Honesty to Honesty ingag'd, 
That this shall be, or we will fall for it. 
Sweare Priests and Cowards, and men Cautelous 
Old feeble Carrions, and such suffering Soules 
That welcome wrongs : Vnto bad causes, sweare 
Such Creatures as men doubt ; but do not staine 
The euen vertue of our Enterprize, 
Nor th'insuppressiue Mettle of our Spirits, 
To thinke, that or our Cause, or our Performance 
Did neede an Oath. When euery drop of blood 
That euery Roman beares, and Nobly beares 
Is guilty of a seuerall Bastardie, 
If he do breake the smallest Particle 
Of any promise that hath past from him. 

Cas. But what of Cicero ? Shall we sound him ? 
I thinke he will stand very strong with vs. 

Cask. Let vs not leaue him out. 

Cyn. No, by no meanes. 

Metel. O let vs haue him, for his Siluer haires 
Will purchase vs a good opinion : 
And buy mens voyces, to commend our deeds : 
It shall be sayd, his iudgement rul'd our hands. 
Our youths, and wildenesse, shall no whit appeare. 
But all be buried in his Grauity. 

Bru. O name him not ; let vs not breake with him, 
For he will neuer follow any thing 
That other men begin. 



164 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Cos. Then leaue him out. 

Cask. Indeed, he is not fit. 

Decius. Shall no man else be toucht, but onely Caesar I 

Cos. Decius well vrg'd : I thinke it is not meet, 
MarJce Antony, so well belou'd of Caesar, 
Should out-liue Ccesar, we shall finde of him 
A shrew'd Contriuer. And you know, his meanes 
If he improue them, may well stretch so farre 
As to annoy vs all : which to preuent, 
Let Antony and Ccesar fall together. 

Bru. Our course will seeme too bloody, Caius Cassius, 
To cut the Head off, and then hacke the Limbes : 
Like Wrath in death, and Enuy afterwards : 
For Antony, is but a Limbe of Ccesar. 
Let's be Sacrificers, but not Butchers Caius : 
We all stand vp against the spirit of Ccesar., 
And in the Spirit of men, there is no blood : 
O that we then could come by Ccesars Spirit, 
And not dismember Ccesar ! But (alas) 
Ccesar must bleed for it. And gentle Friends, 
Let's kill him Boldly, but not Wrathfully : 
Let's carue him, as a Dish fit for the Gods, 
Not hew him as a Carkasse fit for Hounds : 
And let our Hearts, as subtle Masters do, 
Stirre vp their Seniants to an acte of Rage, 
And after seeme to chide 'em. This shall make 
Our purpose Necessary, and not Enuious. 
Which so appearing to the common eyes, 
We shall be call'd Purgers, not Murderei's. 
And for MarJce Antony, thinke not of him : 
For he can do no more then Ccesars Arme, 
When Ccesars head is off. 

Cas. Yet I feare him, 
For in the ingrafted loue he beares to Ccesar. 

Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not thinke of him : 
If he loue Ccesar, all that he can do 
Is to himselfe ; take thought, and dye for Ccesar, 
And that were much he should : for he is giuen 
To sports, to wildenesse, and much company. 

IVeb. There is no feare in him ; let him not dye, 
For he will Hue, and laugh at this heereaftcr. 

[ Clocke strikes. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 165 

Bru. Peace, count the Clocke. 
Cas. The Clocke hath stricken three. 
Treb. 'Tis time to part. 
Cass. But it is doubtfull yet, 
Whether Ccesar will come forth to day, or no : 
For he is Superstitious growne of late, 
Quite from the maine Opinion he held once, 
Of Fantasie, of Dreames, and Ceremonies : 
It may be, these apparent Prodigies, 
Tlie vnaccustom'd Terror of this night, 
And the perswasion of his Augurers, 
May hold him from the CajiitoU to day. 

Decius. Neuer feare that : If he be so resolu'd, 
I can ore-sway him : For he loues to heare. 
That Vnicornes may be betray'd with Trees, 
And Beares with Glasses, Elephants with Holes, 
Lyons with Toyles, and men with Flatterers. 
But, when I tell him, he hates Flatterers, 
He sayes, he does ; being then most flattered. 
Let me worke : 

For I can giue his humour the true bent ; 
And I will bring him to th« Capitoll. 

Cas. Nay, we will all of vs, be there to fetch him. 

Bru. By the eight houre, is that the vttermost ? 

Cin. Be that the vttermost, and faile not then. 

Met. Caius Ligarius doth beare Ccesar hard, 
Who rated him for speaking well of Ponipey ; 
I wonder none of you haue thought of him. 

Bru. Now good Meiellus go along by him : 
He loues me well, and I haue giuen him Reasons, 
Send him but hither, and He fashion him : 

Cas. The morning comes vpon's : 
Wee'l leaue you Brutus, 

And Friends disperse your selues ; but all remember 
What you haue said, and shew your selues true Romans. 

Bru. Good Gentlemen, looke fresh and merrily, 
Let not our lookes put on our purposes. 
But beare it as our Roman Actors do. 
With vntyr'd Spirits, and formall Constancie, 
And so good morrow to you euery one. [Exeunt. 

Manet Brutus. 

Boy : Lucius : Fast asleepe ? It is no matter, 



166 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Enloy the hony-heauy-Dew of Slumber : 
Thou hast no Figures, nor no Fantasies, 
Which busie care drawes, in the braines of men 5 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 

Enter Portia. 

Por. Brutus, my Lord. 

Bru. Portia : What meane you ? wherfore rise you now ? 
It is not for your health, thus to commit 
Your weake condition, to the raw cold morning. 

Por. Nor for youre neither. Y'haue vngently Brutus 
Stole from my bed : and yesternight at Supper 
You sodainly arose, and walk'd about, 
Musing, and sighing, with your armes a-crosse : 
And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
You star'd vpon me, with vngentle lookes. 
I vrg'd you further, then you scratch'd your head, 
And too impatiently stampt with your foote : 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, 
But with an angry wafter of your hand 
Gaue signe for me to leaue you : So I did, 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
Which seem'd too much inkindled ; and withall, 
Hoping it was but an effect of Humor, 
Which sometime hath his houre with euery man. 
It will not let you eate, nor talke, nor sleepe ; 
And could it worke so much vpon yom' shape, 
As it hath much preuayl'd on your Condition, 
I should not know you Brutus. Deare my Lord, 
Make me acquainted with your cause of greefe. 

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 

Por. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, 
He would embrace the meanes to come by it. 

Bru. Why so I do : good Poitla go to bed. 

Por. Is Brutus sicke ? And is it Physicall 
To walke vnbraced, and sucke vp the humoui's 
Of the danke Morning ? What, is Brutus sicke ? 
And will he steale out of his wholesome bed 
To dare the vile contagion of the Night ? 
And tempt the Rhewmy, and vnpurged Ayre, 
To adde vnto his sicknesse ? No my Brutus, 
You haue some sicke Offence within your minde, 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 167 

Which by the Right and Vertue of my place 
I ought to know of: And vpon my knees, 
I charme you, by my once commended beauty. 
By all your vowes of Loue, and that great Vow 
Which did incorporate and make vs one. 
That you vnfold to me, your selfe ; your halfe 
Why you are heauy : and what men to night 
Haue had resort to you ; for heere haue beene 
Some sixe or seuen, who did hide their faces 
Euen from darknesse. 

Bru. Kneele not gentle Portia. 

Por. I should not neede, If you were gentle Brutus. 
Within the Bond of Marriage, tell me, Brutus^ 
Is it excepted, I should know no Secrets 
That appertains to you ? Am I your Selfe, 
But as it were in sort, or limitation ? 
To keepe with you at Meales, comfort your Bed, 
And talke to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the Suburbs 
Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus Harlot, not his Wife. 

Bru. You are my true and honourable Wife, 
As deere to me, as are the ruddy droppes 
That visit my sad heart. 

Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret. 
I graunt I am a Woman ; but withall, 
A Woman that Lord Brutus tooke to Wife : 
I graunt I am a Woman ; but withall, 
A Woman well reputed : Cato's daughter. 
Thinke you, I am no stronger then my Sex 
Being so Father'd, and so Husbanded ? 
Tell me your Counsels, I will not disclose 'em : 
I haue made strong proofe of my Constancie, 
Giuing my selfe a voluntary wounde, 
Heere, in the Thigh : Can I beare that with patience, 
And not my Husbands secrets ? 

Bru. O ye Gods ! 
Render me worthy of this Noble Wife. [Knocke. 

Harke, harke, one knockes : Portia go in a while, 
And by and by thy bosome shall partake 
The secrets of my Heart. 
All my engagements, I will construe to thee, 



168 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

All the Charracteiy of my sad browes : 

Leaue me with hast. [Exit Portia. 

Enter lAiiius and Ligarius. 
Lucius^ who's that knockes ? 

Luc. Heere is a sicke man that would speak with you. 

Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. 
Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how ? 

Cai. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. 

Bru, O what a time haue you chose out braue Caius, 
To weare a Kerchiefe '? Would you were not sicke. 

Cai. I am not sicke, if Brutus haue in hand 
Any exploit worthy the name of Honor. 

Bru. . Such an exploit haue I in hand, Ligarius, 
Had you a healthful! eare to heare of it. 

Cai. By all the Gods that Romans bow before, 
I heeye discard my sicknesse. Soule of Rome, 
Braue Sonne, deriu'd from Plonourable Loines, 
Thou like an Exorcist, hast coniur'd vp 
My mortified Spirit : Now bid me runne. 
And I will striue with things impossible, 
Yea get the better of them. What's to do ? 

Bru. A peece of worke. 
That will make sicke men whole. 

Cai. But are not some whole, that we must make sicke ? 

Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 
I shall vnfold to thee, as we are going, 
To whom it must be done. 

Cai. Set on your foote, 
And with a heart new-fir'd, I follow you. 
To do I know not what : but it sufficeth 
That Brutus leads me on. [Thunder. 

Bru. Follow me then. [Exeunt. 



Thunder ^ Lightning. 
Enter lulius Cxsar in his Night-gowne. 

Ccesar. Nor Heauen, nor Earth, 
Haue beene at peace to night : 
Thrice hath Calphurnia, in her sleepe cryed out, 
Helpe, ho : They murther Cmsar. Who's within ? 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 169 

Enter a Seruant. 

Ser. My Lord. 

Cces. Go bid the Priests do present Sacrifice, 
And bring me tlieir opinions of Successe. 

Ser. I win my Lord. [Exit. 

Enter Calphurnia. 

Cal. What mean you Ccesar ? Think you to walk forth ? 
You shall not stirre out of your house to day. 

C(BS. Ccesar shall forth ; the things that threaten'd me 
Ne're look'd but on my backe : When they shalfsee 
The face of Ccesar, they are vanished. 

Calp. Ccesar, I neuer stood on Ceremonies, 
Yet now they fright me : There Is one within, 
Besides the things that we haue heard and scene, 
Recounts most horrid sights scene by the Watch. 
A Lionesse hath whelped In the streets, 
And Graues haue yawn'd, and yeelded vp their dead ; 
Fierce fiery Warriours fight vpon the Clouds 
In Rankes and Squadrons, and right forme of Warre 
Which drlzel'd blood vpon the Capitol! : 
The noise of Battell hurtled In the Ayre : 
Horsses do neigh, and dying men did grone. 
And Ghosts did shrieke and squeale about the streets. 
O Ccesar, these things are beyond all vse. 
And I do feare them. 

Cces. What can be auoyded 
Whose end Is purpos'd by the mighty Gods ? 
Yet Ccesar shall go forth : for these Predictions 
Are to the world in generall, as to Ccesar. 

Calp. When Beggers dye, there are no Comets seen, 
The Heauens themselues blaze forth the death of Princes. 

Cces. Cowards dye many times before their deaths, 
The valiant neuer taste of death but once : 
Of all the Wonders that I yet haue heard, 
It seemes to me most strange that men should feare. 
Seeing that death, a necessary end 
Will come, when it will come. 

Enter a Seruant. 
What say the Augurers ? 

Ser. They would not haue you to stirre forth to day. 
Plucking the intrailes of an Offering forth, 
They could not finde a heart within the beast. 



170 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Cces. The Gods do this in shame of Cowardice : 
Ccesar should be a Beast without a heart 
If he should stay at home to day for feare : 
No Ccesar shall not : Danger knowes full well 
That Ccesar is more dangerous then he. 
"We are two Lyons litter 'd in one day, 
And I the elder and more terrible, 
And Ccesar shall go foorth. 

Calp. Alas my Lord, 
Your wisedome is consum'd in confidence : 
Do not go forth to day : Call it my feare. 
That keepes you in the house, and not your owne. 
Wee'l send Mark Antony to the Senate house, 
And he shall say, you are not well to day : 
Let me vpon my knee, preuaile in this. 

CcBS. Mark Antony shall say I am not well. 
And for thy humor, I will stay at home. 

Enter Decius. 

Heere's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 

Deci. Ccesar, all haile : Good morrow worthy Ccesar, 
I come to fetch you to the Senate house. 

Cces. And you are come in very happy time. 
To beare my greeting to the Senators, 
And tell them that I will not come to day : 
Cannot, is false : and that I dare not, falser : 
I will not come to day, tell them so Decius. 

Calp. Say he is sicke. 

Cces. Shall Ccesar send a Lye ? 
Haue I in Conquest stretcht mine Arme so farre, 
To be afear'd to tell Gray-beards the truth : 
Decius, go tell them, Ccesar will not come. 

Deci. Most mighty Ccesar, let me know some cause, 
Lest I be laught at when I tell them so. 

Cces. The cause is in my Will, I will not come, 
That is enough to satisfie the Senate. 
But for your priuate satisfaction. 
Because I loue you, I will let you know. 
Calphurnia heere my wife, stayes me at home : 
She dreampt to night, she saw my Statue, 
Which like a Fountaine, with an hundred spouts 
Did run pure blood : and many lusty Romans ^ 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 171 

Came smiling, & did bathe tlieir hands in it : 
And these does she apply, for warnings and portents, 
And euils imminent ; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd, that I will stay at home to day. 

Deci. This Dreame is all amisse interpreted, 
It was a vision, faire and fortunate-: 
Your Statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
In which so many smiling Romans bath'd. 
Signifies, that from you great Rome shall sucke 
Reuiuing blood, and that great men shall presse 
For Tinctures, Staines, Reliques, and Cognisance. 
This by Calplmrnia's Dreame is signified. 

Cces. And this way haue you well expounded it. 

Deci. I haue, when you haue heard what I can say : 
And know it now, the Senate haue concluded 
To glue this day, a Crowne to mighty Ccesar. 
If you shall send them word you will not come. 
Their mindes may change. Besides, it were a mocke 
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say, 
Breake vp the Senate, till another time : 
When Ccesars wife shall meete with better Dreames. 
If Ccesar hide himselfe, shall they not whisper 
Loe Ccesar is affraid ? 
Pardon me Coisar, for my deere deere loue 
To your proceeding, bids me tell you this : 
And reason to my loue is liable. 

Cces. How foolish do your fears seeme now Calpliurnia ? 
I am ashamed I did yeeld to them. 
Giue me my Robe, for I will go. 

Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Caslca, Trebonius, Cynna, and Puhlius. 

And looke where Puhlius is come to fetch me. 

Pub. Good morrow Ccesar. 

Cces. Welcome Puhlius. 
What Brutus, are you stirr'd so earely too ? 
Good morrow Caska : Cuius Ligarius, 
Ccesar was ne're so much your enemy, 
As that same Ague which hath made you leane. 
What Is't a Clocke '? 

Bru. Ccesar, 'tis strucken eight. 

Cces. I thanke you for your palnes and curtesie. 



172 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Enter Antony. 

See, Antony that Reuels long a-nights 

Is notwithstanding vp. Good morrow Antony. 

Ant. So to most Noble Ccesar. 

Cces. Bid them prepare within : 
I am to blame too be thus waited for. 
Now Cynna, now Metellus : what Trehoi\ius, 
I haue an houres talke in store for you : 
Remember that j'ou call on me to day : 
Be neere me, that I may remember you. 

Treh. Ccesar I will : and so neere will I be, 
That your best Friends shall wish I had beene further. 

CcBS. Good Friends go in, and taste some wine with me 
And we (like Friends) will straight Avay go together. 

Bru. That euery like is not the same, O Ccesar, 
The heart of Brutus earnes to thinke vpon. {Exeunt. 



Enter Artemidonix. 

Ccesar, beware of Brutus, take lieede of Cassius ; come not neere 
Caska, haue a7i eye to Cynna, trust not Trehonius, marke well Me- 
tellus Cymber, Decius Brutus hues thee not: Thou hast ivrong'd 
Caius Ligarius. There is but one minde in all these men, and it 
is bent against Ccesar : If thou beest not Immortall, looke about 
you : Security giues way to Conspiracie. The mighty Gods defend 
thee. Thy Louer, Artemidorus. 

Heere will I stand, till Ccesar passe along, 
And as a Sutor will I giue him this : 
My heart laments, that Vertue cannot Hue 
Out of the teeth of Emulation. 
If thou reade this, O Ccesar thou maycst Hue ; 
K not, the Fates with Traitors do contriue. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. 
Enter Portia and Lucius. 

Por. I prythee Boy, run to the Senate-house, 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone. 
Why doest thou stay ? 

Luc. To know my errand Madam. 

Por. I would haue had thee there and heere agen 
Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st do there : 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 173 

Constancie, be strong vpon ray side, 

Set a huge Mountaine 'tweene my Heart and Tongue : 

1 haue a mans minde, but a womans might : 
How hard it is for women to keepe counsell. 
Art thou heere yet ? 

Luc. Madam, what should I do ? 
Run to the Capitoll, and nothing else ? 
And so returne to you, and nothing else ? 

Por. Yes, bring me word Boy, if thy Lord look well, 
For he went sickly forth : and take good note 
What Ccesar doth, what Sutors presse to him. 
Hearke Boy, what noyse is that ? 

Luc. I heare none Madam. 

Po7\ Prythee listen well : 
I heard a bussling Rumor like a Fray, 
And the winde brings it from the Capitoll. 

Luc. Sooth Madam, I heare nothing. 

Enter the Soothsayer. 

Por. Come hither Fellow, which way hast thou bin ? 

Sooth. At mine owne house, good Lady. 

Por. What is't a clocke ? 

Sooth. About the ninth houre Lady. 

Por. Is Ccesar yet gone to the Capitoll ? 

Sooth. Madam not yet, I go to take my stand, 
To see him passe on to the Capitoll. 

Po7\ Thou hast some suite to Ccesar, hast thou not ? 

Sooth. That I haue Lady, if it will please Ccesar 
To be so good to Ccesar, as to heare me : 
I shall beseech him to befriend himselfe. 

Por. Why know'st thou any harme's intended towards him ? 

Sooth. None that I know will be, 
Much that I feare may chance : 
Good morrow to you : heere the street is narrow : 
The throng that followes Ccesar at the heeles. 
Of Senators, of Praetors, common Sutors, 
Will crowd a feeble man (almost) to death : 
Re get me to a place more voyd, and there 
Speake to great Ccesar as he comes along. [Exit. 

Por. I must go in : 
Aye me ! How weake a thing 



174 REPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

The heart of woman is ? O Brutus, 

The Heauens speede thee in thine enterprize. 

Sure the Boy heard me : Brutus hath a suite 

That Ccesar will not grant. 0, I grow faint : 

Run Lucius, and commend me to my Lord, 

Say I am merry ; Come to me againe, 

And bring me word what he doth say to thee. [Exeunt. 

ACTUS TERTIUS. 

SCENE I. 

Flourish. 

Enter Cxsar, Brutus, Cnssius, Caska, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cynna, An- 
tony, Lepidus, Artemidorus, Publius, and the Soothsayer. 

Cms. The Ides of March are come, 

Sooth. I Ccesar, but not gone. 

Art. Haile Ccesar : Read this Scedule. 

Deci. Irebonius doth desire you to ore-read 
(At your best leysure) this his humble suite. 

Art. O Ccesar, reade mine first : for mine's a suite 
That touches Ccesar neerer. Read it great Ccesar. 

Cces. What touches vs our selfe, shall be last seru'd. 

Art. Delay not, Ccesar, read it instantly. 

Cobs. What, is the fellow mad ? 

Puh. Sirra, giue place. 

Cassi. What, vrge you your Petitions in the street ? 
Come to the Capitoll. 

Popil. I wish your enterprize to day may thriue. 

Cassi. What enterprize, Popillius ? 

Popil. Fare you well. 

Bru. What said Popillius Lena f 

Cassi. He wisht to day our enterprize might thriue : 
I feare our purpose is discouered. 

Bru. Looke how he makes to Ccesar : marke him. 

Cassi. Caska be sodaine, for we fcare preuention. 
Brutus what shall be done ? If this be knowne, 
Cassius or Ccesar neuer shall turne backe, 
For I will slay my selfe. 

Bi-u. Cassius be constant : 
Popillius Lena speakes not of our purposes. 
For looke he smiles, and Ccesar doth not change. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 175 

Cassi. Trebonius knowes bis time : for look you Brutus 
He drawes Mark Antony out of the way. 

Deci. Where is Metellus Cimber, let him go, 
And presently preferre his suite to Ccesar. 

Bru. He is addrest : presse neere, and second him. 

Cin. Caska, you are the first that reares your hand. 

Cces. Are we all ready ? What is now amisse, 
That CcBsar and his Senate must redresse ? 

Metel. Most high, most mighty, and most puisant Ccesar, 
Metellus Cymher throwes before thy Seate 
An humble heart. 

Cces. I must preuent thee Cymher : 
These couchings, and these lowly courtesies 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men, 
And turne pre-Ordinance, and first Decree 
Into the lane of Children. Be not fond. 
To thinke that Ccesar beares such Rebell blood 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth Fooles, I meane sweet wordes, 
Low-crooked curtsies, and base Spaniell fawning : 
Thy Brother by decree is banished : 
If thou doest bend, and pray, and fawne for him, 
I spurne thee like a Curre out of my way : 
Know, Ccesar doth not wrong, nor without cause 
"WIW he be satisfied. 

Metel. Is there no voyce more worthy then my owne, 
To sound more sweetly in great CcBsars eare, 
For the repealing of my banish'd brother ? 

Bru. I kisse thy hand, but not in flattery Ccesar : 
Desiring thee that Publius Cymher may 
Haue an immediate freed ome of repeale. 

Cces. W^hat Brutus .? 

Cassi. Pardon Ccesar ; Ccesar pardon : 
As lowe as to thy foote doth Cassius fall. 
To begge infranchisement for Publius Cymher. 

Cces. I could be well mou'd, if I were as you. 
If I could pray to mooue. Prayers would mooue me : 
But I am constant as the Northerne Starre, 
Of whose true fixt, and resting quality, 
There is no fellow in the Firmament. 
The Skies are painted with vnnumbred sparkes, 



176 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

They are all Fire, and euery one doth shine : 
But, there's but one in all doth hold his place. 
So, in the World ; 'Tis furnisli'd well with Men, 
And Men are Flesh and Blood, and apprehensiue ; 
Yet in the number, I do know but One 
That vnassayleable holds on liis Ranke, 
Vnshak'd of Motion : and that I am he, 
Let me a little shew it, euen in this : 
That I was constant Ci/mber should be banish'd, 
And constant do remaine to keepe him so. 

Cinna. O Gcesar. 

Cces. Hence : Wilt thou lift vp Olympus ? 

Decius. Great Ccesar. 

Cces. Doth not Brutus bootlesse kneele ? 

Cash. Speake hands for me. 

They stab Casar. 

Cces. Et Tu Brute ? Then fall Ccesar. [Dyes. 

Cyn. Liberty, Freedome ; Tyi-anny is dead. 
Run hence, proclaime, cry it about the Streets. 

Cassi. Some to the common Pulpits, and cry out 
Liberty, Freedome, and Enfranchisement. 

Bru. People and Senators, be not affrighted : 
Fly not, stand still : Ambitions debt is paid. 

Cash. Go to the Pulpit Brutus. 

Dec. And Cassius loo. 

Bru. Where's PuUius ? 

Cm. Heere, quite confounded with this mutiny. 

Met. Stand fast together, least some Friend of Ccesars 
Should chance— 

B7-U. Talke not of standing. Puhlius good cheere, 
There is no harme intended to your person. 
Nor to no Roman else : so tell them PuMius. 

Cassi. And leaue ys Pziblius, least that the people 
Rushing on vs, should do your Age some mischiefe. 

Bru. Do so, and let no man abide this deede, 
But we the doers. 

Enter Trebonius. 

Cassi. Wliere is Antony ? 

Treb. Fled to his House amaz'd : 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 177 

Men, Wiues, and Children, stare, cry out, and run, 
As it were Dooniesday. 

Bru. Fates, we will know your pleasures : 
That we shall dye we know, 'tis but the time 
And drawing dayes out, that men stand vpon. 

Cask. Why he that cuts off twenty yeares of life. 
Cuts off so many yeares of fearing death. 

Bru. Grant that, and then is Death a Benefit : 
So are we Ccesars Friends, that haue abridg'd 
His time of fearing death. Stoope Romans, stoope, 
And let vs bathe our hands in Ccesars blood 
Vp to the Elbowes, and besmeare our Swords : 
Then walke we forth, euen to the Market place, 
And waning bur red Weapons o're our heads, 
Let's all cry. Peace, Freedome, and Liberty. 

Cassi. Stoop then, and wash. How many Ages hence 
Shall this our lofty Scene be acted ouer, 
In State vnborne, and Accents yet vnknowne ? 

Bru. How many times shall Coisar bleed in sport, 
That now on Pompeyes Basis lye along, 
No worthier then the dust ? 

Cassi. So oft as that shall be. 
So often shall the knot of vs be call'd. 
The Men that gaue their Country liberty. -i- 

Dec. What, shall we forth ? 

Cassi. I, euery man away. 
Brutus shall leede, and we will grace his heeles 
With the most boldest, and best hearts of Rome. 

Enter a Seruant. 

Bru. Soft, who comes heere ? A friend of Antonies. 

Ser. Thus Brutus did my Master bid me kneele ; 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall downe. 
And being prostrate, thus he bad me say : 
Brutus is Noble, Wise, Valiant, and Honest ; 
Ccesar was Mighty, Bold, Royall, and Louing : 
Say, I loue Brutus, and I honour him ; 
Say, I fear'd Ccesar, honour'd him, and lou'd him. 
If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 
May safely come to him, and be resolu'd 
How Ccesar hath deseru'd to lye in death, 
12 



178 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Mark Antony, shall not loue Ccesar dead 

So well as Brutus liuing ; but will follow 

The Fortunes and Affayres of Noble Brutus, 

Through the hazards of this vntrod State, 

With all true Faith. So sayes my Master Antony. 

Bru. Thy Master is a Wise and Valiant Romane, 
I neuer thought him worse : 
Tell him, so please him come vnto this place 
He shall be satisfied : and by my Honor 
Depart vntouch'd. 

Ser. Ee fetch him presently. i^xU Semant. 

Bru. I know that we shall baue him well to Friend. 

Cassi. I wish we may : But yet haue I a minde 
That feares him much : and my misgiuing still 
Falles shrewdly to the purpose. 

Enter Antony. 

Bru. But heere comes Antony : 
Welcome Mark Antony. 

Ant. O mighty Ccesar ! Dost thou lye so lowe ? 
Are all thy Conquests, Glories, Triumphes, Spoiles, 
Shrunke to this little Measure ? Fare thee well. 
I know not Gentlemen what you Intend, 
Who else must be let blood, who else is ranke : 
If I my selfe, there Is no houre so fit 
As Caisars deaths houre ; nor no Instrument 
Of halfe that worth, as those your Swords ; made rich 
With the most Noble blood of all this World. 
I do beseech yee, if you beare me hard, 
Now, whll'st your purpled hands do reeke and smoake, 
Fulfill your pleasure. Llue a thousand yeeres, 
I shall not finde my selfe so apt to dye. 
No place will please me so, no meane of death, 
As heere by Ccesar, and by you cut ofij 
The Choice and Master Spirits of this Age. 

Bru. O Antony ! Begge not your death of vs : 
Though now we must appeare bloody and cruell, 
As by our hands, and this our present Acte 
You see we do : Yet see you but our hands, 
And this, the bleeding businesse they haue done : 
Our hearts you see not, they are pittlfull : 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 179 

And pitty to the generall wrong of Kome, 

As fire driues out fire, so pitty, pitty 

Hath done this deed on Ccesar. For your part, 

To you, our Swords haue leaden points Mai'ke Antony : 

Our Armes in strength of malice, and our Hearts 

Of Brothers temper, do receiue you in. 

With all kinde loue, good thoughts, and reuerence. 

Cassi. Your voyce shall be as strong as any mans, 
In the disposing of new Dignities. 

Bru. Onely be patient, till we haue appeas'd 
The Multitude, beside themselues with feare, 
And then, we will delluer you the cause, 
Why I, that did loue Ccesar when I strooke him, 
Haue thus proceeded. 

Ant. I doubt not of your Wisedome : 
Let each man render me his bloody hand. 
First Marcus Brutus will I shake with you ; 
Next Caius Cassius do I take your hand ; 
Now Decius Brutus yours ; now yours Metellus, 
Yours Cinna ; and my valiant Caska, yours ; 
Though last, not least in loue, yours good Trehonlus, 
Gentlemen all : Alas, what shall I say, 
My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
That one of two bad wayes you must conceit me, 
Either a Coward, or a Flatterer. 
That I did loue thee Ccesar, O 'tis true : 
If then thy Spirit looke vpon vs nowe. 
Shall it not greeue thee deerer then thy death, 
To see thy Antony making his peace. 
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy Foes ? 
Most Noble, in the presence of thy Coarse, 
Had I as many eyes, as thou hast wounds, 
Weeping as fast as they streame forth thy blood, 
It would become me better, then to close 
In tearmes of Friendship with thine enemies. 
Pardon me lulius, heere was't thou bay'd braue Hart, 
Heere did'st thou fall, and heere thy Hunters stand 
Sign'd in thy Spoyle, and Crimson'd in thy Lethee. 
O World ! thou wast the Forrest to this Hart, 
And this indeed, O World, the Hart of thee. 
How like a Deere, stroken.by many Princes, 
Dost thnu heere lye ? 



180 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Cassi. Mark Antony. 

Ant. Pardon me Cuius Cassius : 
The Enemies of Ccesar, shall say this : 
Then, in a Friend, it is cold Modestie. 

Cassi. I blame you not for praising Ccesar so, 
But what compact raeane you to haue with vs ? 
Will you be prick'd in number of our Friends, 
Or shall Ave on, and not depend on you ? 

Ant. Therefore I tooke your hands, but was indeed 
Sway'd from the point, by looking downe on Ccesar. 
Friends am I with you all, and loue you all, 
Vpon this hope, that you shall giue me Reasons, 
Why, and wherein, Ccesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a sauage Spectacle : 
Our Reasons are so full of good regard. 
That were you Antony, the Sonne of Ccesar, 
You should be satisfied. 

A7it. That's all I seeke, 
And am moreouer sutor, that I may 
Produce his body to the Market-place, 
And in the Pulpit as becomes a Friend, 
Speake in the Order of his Funerall. 

Bru. You shall Mark Antony. 

Cassi. Brutus, a word with you : 
You know not what you do : Do not consent 
That Antony speake in his funerall : 
Know you how much the people may be mou'd 
By that which he will vtter. 

Bru. By your pardon : 
I will my selfe into the Pulpit first. 
And shew the reason of our Ccesars death. 
What Antony shall speake, I will protest 
He speakes by leaue, and by permission : 
And that we are contented Ccesar shall 
Haue all true Rites and lawfull Ceremonies, 
It shall aduantage more, then do vs wrong. 

Cassi. I know not what may fall, I like it not. 

Bru. Mark Antony, heere take you Ccesars body : 
You shall not in your Funerall speech blame vs. 
But speake all good you can dcuise of Ccesar, 
And say you doo't by our permission : 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 181 

Else shall you not haue any hand at all 
About his Funerall. And you shall speake 
In the same Pulpit whereto I am going, 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant, Be it so : 
I do desire no more. 

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow vs. [Exeunt. 

Manet Antony. 

O pardon me, thou bleeding peece of Earth : 

That I am meeke and gentle with these Butchers. 

Thou art the Rulnes of the Noblest man 

That euer lined in the Tide of Times. 

Woe to the hand that shed this costly Blood. 

Ouer thy wounds, now do I Prophesie, 

(Which like dumbe mouthes do ope their Ruby lips, 

To begge the voyce and vtterance of my Tongue) 

A Curse shall light vpon the limbes of men ; 

Domesticke Fury, and fierce Ciuill strife, 

Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : 

Blood and destruction shall be so in vse, 

And dreadfull Obiects so familiar. 

That Mothers shall but smile, when they behold 

Their Infants quartered with the hands of Warre : 

All pitty choak'd with custome of fell deeds, 

And Ccesars Spirit ranging for Reuenge, 

With Ate by his side, come hot from Hell, 

Shall in these Confines, with a Monarkes voyce, 

Cry hauocke, and let slip the Dogges of Warre, 

That this foule deede, shall smell aboue the earth 

With Carrion men, groaning for Burlall. 

Enter Octauio^s Seruant. 

You serue Octauius Ccesar, do you not ? 

Ser. I do Marke Antony. 

Ant. Ccesar did write for him to come to Rome. 

Ser. He did receiue his Letters, and is comming, 

And bid me say to you by word of mouth • 

O Ccesar! 

A nt. Thy heart is bigge : get thee a-part and weepe : 
Passion I see is catching from mine eyes, 



182 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Seeing those Beads of son-ow stand in thine, 
Began to water. Is thy Master comming ? 

Ser. He lies to night within seuen Leagues of Rome. 

Ant. Post backe with speed e, 
And tell him what hath chanc'd : 
Heere is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octauius yet, 
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay a-while, 
Thou shalt not backe, till I haue borne this course 
Into the Market place : There shall I try 
In my Oration, how the People take 
The cruell issue of these bloody men, 
According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
To yong Octauius, of the state of things. 
Lend me your hand. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11. 
Enter Brutus and goes into the Pulpit, and Cassius, with the Plebeians. 

Pie. We will be satisfied : let vs be satisfied. 

Bi^u. Then follow me, and glue me Audience friends. 
Cassius go you into the other streete, 
And part the Numbers : 

Those that will heare me speake, let 'em stay heere ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him, 
And publike Reasons shall be rendred 
Of Ccesars death. 

1. Pie. I will heare Brutus speake. 

2. I will heare Cassius, and compare their Reasons, 
When seuerally we heare them rendred. 

3. The Noble Brutus is ascended : Silence. 
Bru. Be patient till the last. 

Romans, Countrey-men, and Louers, heare mee for my cause, 
and be silent, that you may heare. Beleeue me for mine Honor, 
and haue respect to mine Honor, that you may beleeue. Censure 
me in your Wisedom, and awake your Senses, that you may the 
better ludge. If there bee any in this Assembly, any deere 
Friend of Ccesars, to him I say, that Brutus loue to Ccesar, was 
no lesse then his. If then, that Friend demand, why Brutus rose 
against Ccesar, this is my answer : Not that I lou'd Ccesar lesse, 
but that I lou'd Rome more. Had you rather Ccesar were liuing, 
and dye all Slaues ; then that Ccesar were dead, to Hue all Free- 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 183 

men ? As Ccesar lou'd mee, I weepe for him ; as he was For- 
tunate, I reioyce at it ; as he was Valiant, I honour him : But, 
as he was Ambitious, I slew him. There is Teares for his Loue : 
loy, for his Fortune : Honor, for his Valour : and Death, for his 
Ambition. Who is heere so base, that would be a Bondman ? 
If any, speak, for him haue I offended. Who is heere so rude, 
that would not be a Koman ? If any, speak, for him haue I 
offended. Who is heere so vile, that will not loue his Countrey V 
If any, speake, for him haue I offended. I pause for a Reply. 

All. None Brutus, none. 

Brutus. Then none haue I offended. I haue done no more 
to Ccesar, then you shall do to Brutus. The Question of his 
death, is inroU'd in the CapItoU : his Glory not extenuated, where- 
in he was worthy ; nor his offences enforc'd, for which he suf- 
fered death. 

Enter Mark Antony, with Cxsars body. 

Heere comes his Body, mourn'd by Mark Antony, who though he 
had no hand in his death, shall receiue the benefit of his dying, 
a place in the Comonwealth, as which of you shall not. With 
this I depart, that as I slewe my best Louer for the good of 
Rome, I haue the same Dagger for my selfe, when it shall please 
my Country to need my death. 
All. Line Brutus, Hue, line. 

1. Bring him with Triumph home vnto his house. 

2. Glue him a Statue with his Ancestors. 

3. Let him be Ccesar. 

4. Ccesars better parts, 
Shall be Crown'd in Brutus. 

1. Wee'l bring him to his House, 
With Showts and Clamors. 

Bru. My Country-men. 

2. Peace, silence, Brutus speakes. 
1. Peace ho. 

Bru. Good Countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And (for my sake) stay heere with Antony : 
Do grace to Ccesars Corpes, and grace his Speech 
Tending to Ccesars Glories, which Mark Antony 
(By our permission) is allow'd to make. 
I do intreat you, not a man depart, 
Saue I alone, till Antony haue spoke. [Exit. 



184 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

1 Stay ho, and let vs heare Marie Antony. 

3 Let him go vp into the publike Chaire, 
Wee'l heare him : Noble Antony go vp. 

Ant. For Brutus sake, I am beholding to you. 

4 What does he say of Brutus ? 

3 He sayes, for Brutus sake 

He findes himselfe beholding to vs all. 

4 'Twere best he speake no harme of Brutus heere ? 

1 This Ccesar was a Tyrant. 
3 Nay thatV certaine : 

We are blest that Rome is rid of him. 

2 Peace, let vs heare what Antony can say. 
Ant. You gentle Romans. 

All. Peace hoe, let vs heare him. 

An. Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears 
I come to bury Ccesar, not to praise him : 
The euill that men do. Hues after them, 
The good is oft enterred with their bones, 
So let it be with Ccesar. The Noble Brutus, 
Hath told you Ccesar was Ambitious : 
If it were so, it was a grecuous Fault, 
And greeuously hath Ccesar answer'd it. 
Heere, vnder leaue of Brutus, and the rest 
(For Brutus is an Honourable man, 
So are they all ; all Honourable men) 
Come I to speake in Ccesars Funerall. 
He was my Friend, faithful!, and iust to me ; 
But Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious, 
And Brutus is an Honourable man. 
He hath brought many Captiues home to Rome, 
Whose Ransomes, did the generall Coffers fill : 
Did this in Ccesar seeme Ambitious ? 
When that the poore haue cry'de, Ccesar hath wept : 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuffe, 
Yet Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious : 
And Brutus is an Honourable man. 
You all did see, that on the Lupercall, 
I thrice presented him a Kingly Crowne, 
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this Ambition ? 
Yet Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious : 
And sure he is an Honourable man. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 185 

I speake not to disprooue what Brutus spoke, 
But lieere I am, to speake what I do know ; 
You all did loue him once, not without cause, 
What cause with-holds you then, to mourne for him ? 
O Judgement ! thou art fled to brutish Beasts, 
And Men haue lost their Reason. Beare with me, 
My heart is in the Coffin there with Ccesar, 
And I must pawse, till it come backe to me. 

1 Me thinkes there is much reason in his sayings. 

2 If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Ccesar ha's had great wrong. 

3 Ha's hee Masters ? I feare there will a worse come in 
his place. 

4. Mark'd ye his words ? he would not take y® Crown, 
Therefore 'tis certaine, he was not Ambitious. 

1. If it be found so, some will deere abide it. 

2. Poore soule, his eyes ai'e red as fire with weeping. 

3. There's not a Nobler man in Rome then Antony. 

4. Now marke him, he begins againe to speake. 
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Ccesar might 

Haue stood against the World : Now lies he there, 
And none so poore to do him reuerence. 

Maisters ! If I were dispos'd to stirre 
Your hearts and mindes to Mutiny and Rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong : 
Who (you all know) are Honourable men. 

I will not do them wrong : I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong my selfe and you. 

Then I will wrong such Honourable men. 

But heere's a Parchment, with the Seale of Ccesar, 

I found it in his Closset, 'tis his Will : 

Let but the Commons heare this Testament : 

(Which pardon me) I do not meane to reade. 

And they would go and kisse dead Ccesars wounds, 

And dip their Napkins in his Sacred Blood ; 

Yea, begge a haire of him for Memory, 

And dying, mention it within their Willes, 

Bequeathing it as a rich Legacie 

Vnto their issue. 

4 Wee'l heare the will, reade it Marh Antony. 

All. The Will, the Will ; we will heare Ccesars Will. 



186 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Ant. Haue patience gentle Friends, I must not read it. 
It is not meete you know how Ccesar lou'd you : 
You are not Wood, you are not Stones, but men : 
And being men, hearing the Will of Ccesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad ; 
'Tis good you know not that you are his Heires, 
For if you should, O what would come of it ? 

4. Read the Will, wee'l heare it Antony : 
You shall reade vs the Will, Ccesars Will. 

Ant. Will you be Patient ? Will you stay a- while ? 
I haue o're-shot my selfe to tell you of it, 
I feare I wrong the Honourable men, 
Whose Daggei-s haue stabb'd Ccesar : I do feare it. 

4. They were Traitors : Honourable men ? 

All. The Will, the Testament. 

2. They were Villaines, Murderers : the Will, read the Will. 

Ant. You will compell me then to read the Will : 
Then make a Ring about the Corpes of Ccesar, 
And let me shew you him that made the Will ; 
Shall I descend ? And will you giue me leaue ? 

All. Come downe. 

2. Descend. 

3. You shall haue leaue. 

4. A Ring, stand round. 

1. Stand from the Hearse, stand from the Body. 

2. Roome for Antony, most Noble Antony. 
Ant. Nay, presse not so vpon me, stand far off. 
All. Stand backe : roome, beare backe. 

Ant. If you haue teares, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this Mantle, I remember 
The first time euer Ccesar put it on, 
'Twas on a Summers Euening in his Tent, 
That day he ouercame the Neruy. 
Looke, in this place ran Cassius Dagger through : 
See Avhat a rent the enuyous Caska made : 
Through this, the well-beloued Brutus stabb'd. 
And as he pluck'd his cursed Steele away : 
Marke how tlie blood of Ccesar followed It ; 
As rushing out of doores, to be rosolu'd 
If Brutus so vnkindly knock'd, or no : 
For Brutus, as you know, was Ccesar s Angel. 



WILLIAxM SHAKESPEARE. 187 

ludge, O you Gods, how deerely Ccesar lou'd him : 
This was the most vnkindest cut of all. 
For when the Noble Ccesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong then Traitors armes, 
Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his Mighty heart, 
And in his Mantle, muffling vp his face, 
Euen at the base of Pompeyes Statue 
(Which all the while ran blood) great Ccesar fell. 
O what a fall was there, my Countrymen ? 
Then I, and you, and all of vs fell downe, 
Whil'st bloody Treason flourish'd ouer vs. 

now you weepe, and I perceiue you feele 
The dint of pitty : These are gracious droppes. 
Kinde soules, what weepe you, when you but behold 
Our Ccesars Vesture wounded ? Looke you heere, 
Heere is Himselfe, marr'd as you see with Traitors. 

1. O pitteous spectacle ! 

2. O Noble Ccesar 1 

3. O wofuU day ! 

4. O Traitors, Villaines ! 

1. O most bloody sight ! 

2. We will be reueng'd : Reuenge 
About, seeke, burne, fire, kill, slay, 
Let not a Traitor liue. 

Ant. Stay Country-men. 

1. Peace there, heare the Noble Antony. 

2. Wee'l heare him, wee'l follow him, wee'l dy with him. 
Ant. Good Friends, sweet Fi-iends, let me not stirre you vp 

To such a sodaine Flood of Mutiny : 

They that haue done this Deede, are honourable. 

What priuate greefes they haue, alas I know not. 

That made them do it : They are Wise, and Honourable, 

And will no doubt with Reasons answer you. 

1 come not (Friends) to steale away your hearts, 
I am no Orator, as Brutus Is ; 

But (as you know me all) a plaine blunt man 
That loue my Friend, and that they know fiiU well, 
That gaue me publike leaue to speake of him : 
For I haue neyther wit nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor Vtterance, nor the power of Speech, 
To stirre mens Blood. I onely speake right on : 



188 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

I tell you that, which you your selues do know, 

Shew you sweet Ccesars wounds, poor poor dum mouths 

And bid them speake for me : but were I Brutus, 

And Brutus Antony, tliere were an Antony 

Would ruffle vp your Spirits, and put a Tongue 

In euery Wound of Ccesar, that should moue 

The stones of Rome, to rise and Mutiny. 

All. Wee'l Mutiny. 

1. Wee'l burne the house of Brutus. 

3. Away then, come, seeke the Conspirators. 

Ant. Yet heare me Countrymen, yet heare me speake. 

All. Peace hoe, heare Antony, most Noble Antony. 

Ant. Why Friends, you go to do you know not what : 
Wherein hath Ccesar thus deseru'd your loues ? 
Alas you know not, I must tell you then : 
You haue forgot the Will I told you of. 

All. Most true, the Will, let's stay and heare the Wil. 

Ant. Heere is the Will, and vnder Ccesars Scale : 
To euery Roman Citizen he giues. 
To euery seuerall man, seuenty fiue Drachmaes. 

2 Pie. Most Noble Cmsar, wee'l reuenge his death. 

3 Pie. O Royall Cmsar. 
Ant. Heare me with patience. 
All. Peace hoe. 

Ant. Moreouer, he hath left you all his Walkes, 
His priuate Arbors, and new-planted Orchards, 
On this side Tyber, he hath left them you, 
And to your heyres for euer : common pleasures 
To walke abroad, and recreate your selues. 
Heere was a Ccesar : when comes such another ? 

1. Pie. Neuer, neuer : come, away, away : 
Wee'l burne his body in the holy place. 

And with the Brands fire the Traitors houses. 
Take vp the body. 

2. Pie. Go fetch fire. 

3. Pie. Plucke downe Benches. 

4. Pie. Plucke downe Formes, Windowes, any thing. 

[Exit Plebeians. 

Ant. Now let it worke : Mischcefe thou art a-foot, 
Take thou what course thou wilt. 
How now Fellow ? 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 189 

# 

Enter Seruant. 

Ser. Sir, Octauius is already come to Kome. 

Ant. Where is hee ? 

Ser. He and Lepidus are at Ccesars house. 

Ant. And thither will I straiglit, to visit him : 
He comes vpon a wish. Fortune is merry, 
And in this mood will giue vs any thing. 

Ser. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
Are rid like Madmen through the Gates of Rome. 

Ant. Belike they had some notice of the people 
How I had moued them. Bring me to Octauius. [Exewu. 

SCENE III. 
Enter China the Poet, and after hhn the Plebeians. 
Cinna. I dreamt to night, that I did feast with Ccesar, 
And things vnluckily charge my Fantasie : 
I haue no will to wander fborth of doores, 
Yet something leads me foorth. 

1. What is your name ? 

2. Whether are you going ? 

3. Where do you dwell ? 

4. Are you a married man, or a Batchellor ? 

2. Answer euery man directly. 

1. I, and breefely. 
4. I, and wisely. 

3. I, and truly, you were best. 

Cin. What is my name ? Whether am I going ? Where do 
I dwell ? Am I married man, or a Batchellour ? Then to an- 
swer euery man, directly and breefely, wisely and truly : wisely 
I say, I am a Batchellor. 

2. That's as much as to say, they are fooles that marrie : you'l 
beare me a bang for that I feare : proceede directly. 

Cinna. Directly I am going to C<xsars Funerall. 

1. As a Friend, or an Enemy ? 
Cinna. As a friend. 

2. That matter is answered directly. 

4. For your dwelling : breefely. 

Cinna. Breefely, I dwell by the Capitoll. 

3. Your name sir, ti'uly. 

Cinna. Truly, my name is Cinna. 

1. Teare him to peeces, hee's a Conspirator. 



190 REPEESENTA-TIVE SELECTIONS. 

Ginna. I am Cinna the Poet, I am Cinna the Poet. 

4. Teare him for his bad verses, teare him for his bad Verses. 

Cin. I am not Cinna the Conspirator. 

4. It is no matter, his name's Cinna, plucke but his name out 
of his heart, and turne him going. 

3. Teare him, tear him ; Come Brands hoe. Firebrands : to 
Brutus, to Cassius, burne all. Some to Decius House, and some 
to Caskas ; some to Ligarius : Away, go. 

[ Exeunt all the Plebeians. 
ACTUS QUARTUS. 



Enter Antony, Octauius, and Lepidus. 

Ant. These many then shall die, their names are prickt. 

Octa. Your Brother too must dye : consent you Lepidus f 

Lep. I do consent. 

Octa. Pricke him downe Antony. 

Lep. Vpon condition Publius shall not Hue, 
Who is your Sisters sonne, MarJce Antony. 

Ant. He shall not Hue ; looke, with a spot I dam him. 
But Lepidus, go you to Ccesars house : 
Fetch the Will hither, and we shall determine 
How to cut off some charge in Legacies. 

Lep. What ? shall I finde you here ? 

Octa. Or heere, or at the CapitoU. ^exU Lepidus. 

Ant. This is a slight vnmeritable man, 
Meet to be sent on Errands : is it fit 
The three-fold World diulded, he should stande 
One of the thi-ee to share it ? 

Octa. So you thought him, 
And took his voyce who should be prickt to dye 
In our blacke Sentence and Pi-oscription. 

Ant. Octauius, I haue seene more dayes then you. 
And though we lay these Honours on this man. 
To ease our selues of diuers sland'rous loads. 
He shall but beare them, as the Asse beares Gold, 
To groane and swet vnder the Bnsinesse, 
Either led or driuen, as we point the way : 
And hauing brought our Treasure, where we will, 
Then take we downe his Load, and turne him off 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 191 

(Like to the empty Asse) to shake his eares, 
And graze in Commons. 

Octa. You may do your will : 
But hee's a tried, and valiant Souldier. 

Ant. So is my Horse Octauius, and for that 
I do appoint him store of Prouender. 
It is a Creature that I teach to fight, 
To winde, to stop, to run directly on : 
His corporall Motion, gouern'd by my Spirit, 
And in some taste, is Lepidus but so : 
He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth : 
A barren spirited Fellow ; one that feeds 
On Objects, Arts, and Imitations. 
Which out of vse, and stal'de by other men 
Begin his fashion. Do not talke of him. 
But as a property : and now Octauius, 
Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius 
Are leuying Powers ; We must straight make head : 
Therefore let our Alliance be combin'd, 
Our best Friends made, our meanes stretcht, 
And let vs presently go sit in Councell, 
How couert matters may be best disclos'd, 
And open Perils surest answered. 

Octa. Let vs do so : for we are at the stake, 
And bayed about with many Enemies, 
And some that smile haue in their hearts I feare 
Millions of Mischeefes. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 
Brum. Enter Brutus, LucilHus, and the Army. Tilinius and Pindarus meete them, 

Bru. Stand ho. 

Lucil. Giue the word ho, and Stand. 

Bru. What now LucilHus is Cas.mis neere ? 

Lucil. He is at hand, and Pindarus is come 
To do you salutation from his Master. 

Bi'u. He greets me well. Your Master Pindarus 
In his owne change, or by ill Officers, 
Hath giuen me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, vndone : But if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 



192 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Pin. I do not doubt 
But that my Noble Master will appears 
Such as he is, full of regard, and Honour. 

Bru. He is not doubted. A word Lucillius 
How he receiu'd you : let me be resolu'd. 

Lucil. With courtesie, and with respect enough, 
But not with such familiar instances. 
Nor with such fi-ee and friendly Conference 
As he hath vs'd of old. 

Bru. Thou hast describ'd 
A hot Friend, cooling : Euer note Lucillius, 
When Loue begins to sicken and decay 
It vseth an enforced Ceremony. 
There are no trickes, in plaine and simple Faith : 
But hollow men, like Horses hot at hand, 
Make gallant shew, and promise of their Mettle. 

[Low March within. 
But when they should endure the bloody Spurre, 
They fall their Crests, and like deceitfull lades 
Sinke in the Triall. Comes his Army on ? 

Lucil. They meane this night in Sardis to be quarter'd : 
The greater part, the Horse in generall 
Are come with Cassias. 

Enter Cassius and his Powers. 

Bru. Hearke, he is arriu'd : 
March gently on to meete him. 

Cassi. Stand ho. 

Bru. Stand ho, speake the word along. 
Stand. 
Stand. 
Stand. 

Cassi. Most Noble Brother, you haue done me wrong. 

Bru. ludge me you Gods ; wrong I mine Enemies ? 
And if not so, how should I wrong a Brother. 

Cassi. Brutus, this sober forme of yours, hides wrongs, 
And when you do them 

Bru. Cassius, be content, 
Speake your greefes softly, I do know you well. 
Before the eyes of both our Armies heere 
(Which should perceiue nothing but Loue from vs) 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 193 

Let vs not wrangle. Bid tliem moue away : 
Then in my Tent Cassius enlarge your Greefes, 
And I will giue you Audience. 

Cassi. Pindarus, 
Bid our Commanders leade their Charges off 
A little from this ground. 

Bru. LucilUus, do you the like, and let no man 
Come to our Tent, till we haue done our Conference. 
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our doore. [Exeunt. 

Manet Brutus and Cassius. 
SCENE III. 

Cassi. That you haue wrong'd me, doth appear in this : 
You haue condemn'd, and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking Bribes heere of the Sardians ; 
Wherein my Letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man was slighted off. 

Bru. You wrong'd your selfe to write in such a case. 

Cassi. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
That euery nice offence should beare his Comment. 

Bru. Let me tell you Cassius, you your selfe 
Are much condemn'd to haue an itching Palme, 
To sell, and Mart your Offices for Gold 
To Vndeseruers. 

Cassi. I, an itching Palme ? 
You know that you are Brutus that speakes this, 
Or by the Gods, this speech wei-c else your last. 

Bru. The nanie of Cassius Honors this corruption, 
And Chasticement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cassi. Chasticement ? 

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember : 
Did not great lulius bleede for lustice sake ? 
What Villaine touch'd his body, that did stab, 
And not for lustice ? What ? Shall one of Vs, 
That strucke the Eormost man of all this World, 
But for supporting Robbers : shall we now. 
Contaminate our fingers, with base Bribes ? 
And sell the mighty space of our large Honors 
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ? 
I had rather be a Dogge, and bay the Moone, 
Then such a Roman. 
13 



19-1 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Cassi. Brutus, baite not me, 
lie not indure it : you forget your selfe 
To hedge me in. I am a Souldier, I, 
Older in practice, Abler then your selfe 
To make Conditions. 

Bru. Go too : you are not Cassius. 

Cassi. I am. 

Bru. I say, you are not. 

Cassi. Vrge me no more, I shall forget my selfe : 
Haue minde vpon your health : Tempt me no farther. 

Bru. Away slight man. 

Cassi. Is't possible ? 

Bru. Heare me, for I will speake. 
Must I giue way, and roome to your rash Choller ? 
Shall I be frighted, when a Madman stares ? 

Cassi. O ye Gods, ye Gods, Must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ? I more : Fret till your proud hart break. 
Go shew your Slaues how Chollericke you are. 
And make your Bondmen tremble. Must I bouge ? 
Must I obserue you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Vnder your Testie Humour ? By the Gods, 
You shall digest the Venom of your Spleene 
Though it do Split you. For, from this day forth, 
He vse you for my Mirth, yea for my Laughter 
When you are Waspish. 

Cassi. Is it come to this ? 

Bj'u. You say, you are a better Souldier : 
Let it appeare so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well. For mine owne part, 
I shall be glad to learne of Noble men. 

Cass. You wrong me euery way : 
You wrong me, Brutus: 
I saide, an Elder Souldier, not a Better. 
Did I say Better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cassi. When Cmsar liu'd, he durst not thus haue mou'd me. 

Bru. Peace, peace, you durst not so haue tempted him. 

Cassi. I durst not. 

Bru. No. 

Cassi. What ? durst not tempt him ? 

Bru. For your life you durst not. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 195 

Cassi. Do not presume too niucli vpon my Loue, 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You haue done that you should he sorry for. 
There Is no terror Casslus in your threats : 
For I am Arm'd so strong in Honesty, 
That they passe by me, as the idle winde, 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certaine summes of Gold, which you deny'd me, 
For I can raise no money by vile meanes : 
By Heauen, I had rather Coine my Heart, 
And drop my blood for Drachmaes, then to wring 
From the hard hands of Peazants, their vile trash 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for Gold to pay my Legions, 
Which you deny'd me : was that done like Cassius ? 
Siiould I haue answer'd Caius Cassiiis so ? 
When Marcus Brutus growes so Couetous, 
To locke such Rascall Counters from his Friends, 
Be ready Gods with all your Thunder-bolts, 
Dash him to peeces. 

Cassi. I deny'd you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cassi. I did not. He was but a Foole 
That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riu'd my hart : 
A Friend should beare his Friends infirmities ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater then they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me. 

Cassi. You loue me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cassi. A friendly eye could neuer see such faults. 

Bru. A Flatterers would not, thougli they do appeare 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cassi. Come Antony, and yong Octauius come, 
Keuenge your selues alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius Is a-weary of the World : 
Hated by one he loues, brau'd by his Brother, 
Check'd like a bondman, all his faults obseru'd, 
Set In a Note-book, learn'd, and con'd by roate 
To cast into my Teeth. O I could weepe 
My Spirit from mine eyes. There is my Dagger, 
And heere my naked Breast ; Within, a Heart 



196 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Deerer then Pluto's Mine, Richer then Gold : 

If that thou bee'st a Roman, take it foorth. 

I that deny'd thee Gold, will giue my Heart : 

Strike as thou didst at Coesar : For I know. 

When thou did'st hate him worst, y'^ loued'st him better 

Then euer thou loued'st Cassius. 

Bru. Sheath your Dagger : 
Be angry when you will, it shall haue scope : 
Do what you will, Dishonor, shall be Humour. 
O Cassius, you are yoaked with a Lambe 
That carries Anger, as the Flint beares fire, 
Who much inforced, shewes a hastie Sparke, 
And straite is cold agen. 

Cassi. Hath Cassius liu'd 
To be but Mirth and Laughter to his Brutus, 
When greefe and blood ill temper'd, vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill temper'd too. 

Cassi. Do you confesse so much ? Giue me your hand. 

Bru. And my heart too. 

Cassi. O Brutus ! 

Bru. What's the matter ? 

Cassi. Haue not you loue enough to beare with me, 
When that rash humour which my Mother gaue me 
Makes me forgetfuU. 

Bru. Yes Cassius, and from henceforth 
When you are ouer-earnest with your Brutus, 
Hee'l thinke your Mother chides, and leaue you so. 

Enter a Poet. 

Poet. Let me go in to see the Generals, 
There is some grudge betweene 'em, 'tis not meete 
They be alone. 

Lucil. You shall not come to them. 

Poet. Nothing but death shall stay me. 

Cas. How now ? What's the matter ? 

Poet. For shame you Generals ; what do you meane ? 
Loue, and be Friends, as two such men should be, 
For I haue scene more yecres I'me sure then yee. 

Cas. Ha, ha, how vildely doth this Cynicke rime ? 

Bru. Get you hence sii-ra : Sawcy Fellow, hence. 

Cas. Beare with him Brutus, 'tis his fashion. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 197 

Brut. lie know his humor, when he knowes his time : 
What should the Warres do with these ligging Fooles ? 
Companion, hence. 

Cas. Away, away be gone. [:Exit Poet. 

Bru. LucUlius and Tiiinius bid the Commanders 
Prepare to lodge their Companies to night. 

Cas. And come your selues, & bring Messala with you 
Immediately to vs. 

Bru. Lucius, a bowle of Wine. 

Cas. I did not thinke you could haue bin so angry. 

Bru. O Cassius, I am sicke of many greefes. 

Cas. Of your Philosophy you make no vse, 
If you giue place to accidentall euils. 

Brit. No man beares sorrow better. Portia is dead. 

Cas. Ha? Portia? 

Bru. She is dead. 

Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I crost you so ? 

insupportable, and touching losse ! 
Vpon what sicknesse ? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence. 
And greefe, that yong Octauius with Mark Antony 
Haue made themselues so strong : For with her death 
That tydings came. With this she fell distract. 
And (her Attendants absent) swallow'd fire. 

Cas. And dy'd so ? 

Bj'u. Euen so. 

Cas. O ye immortall Gods ! 

Enter Boy with Wine, and Tapers. 

Bru. Speak no more of her : Giue me a bowl of wine, 
In this I bury all vnkindnesse Cassius. [Drinkes. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that Noble pledge. 
Fill Lucius, till the Wine ore-swell the Cup : 

1 cannot drinke too much of Brutus loue. 

Enter Titinius and Messala. 

Brutus. Come in Titinius : 
Welcome good Messala : 
Now sit we close about this Taper heere, 
And call in question our necessities. 

Cass. Portia, art thou gone ? 



198 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Bru. No more I pray you. 
Messala, I haue heere recelued Letters, 
That yong Octauius^ and Marke Aiitony 
Come downe vpon vs with a mighty power, 
Bending their Expedition toward Philippi. 

Mess. My selfe haue Letters of the selfe-same Tenure. 

Bru. With what Addition. 

Mess. That by proscription, and billes of Outlarie, 
Octauius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
Haue put to death, an hundred Senators. 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree : 
Mine speake of seuenty Senators, that dy'de 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 

Cassi. Cicero one ? 

Messa. Cicero is dead, and by that order of proscription. 
Had you your Letters from your wife my Lord ? 

Bru. No Messala. 

Messa. Nor nothing in your Letters writ of her ? 

Bru. Nothing Messala. 

Messa. That me thinkes is strange. 

Bru. Why aske you ? 
Heare you ought of her, in yours ? 

Messa. No my Lord. 

Bru. Now as you are a Roman tell me true. 

Messa. Then like a Romane beare the truth I tell, 
For cei'taine she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Bru. Why farewell Portia : We must die Messala : 
With meditating that she must dye once, 
I haue the patience to endure it now. 

Messa. Euen so great men, great losses should indure. 

Cassi. I haue as much of this in Art as you. 
But yet my Natui-e could not beare it so. 

Bru. Well, to our work aliue. What do you thinke 
Of marching to Philippi presently. 
Cassi. I do not thinke it good. 

Bru. Your reason ? 
Cassi. This it is : 
Tis better that the Enemie seeke vs. 
So shall he waste his meanes, weary his Souldiers, 
Doing himselfe offence, whil'st Ave lying still. 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimblenesse. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 199 

Bru. Good reasons must of force glue place to better : 
The people 'twixt Philippic and this ground 
Do stand but in a forc'd affection : 
For they haue grug'd vs Contribution. 
The Enemy, marching along by them, 
By them shall make a fuller number vp, 
Come on refresht, new added, and encourag'd : 
From which aduantage shall we cut him off. 
If at Pliilippi we do face him there, 
These people at our backe. 

Cassi. Heare me good Brother. 

Brii. Vnder your pardon. You must note beside, 
That we haue tride the vtmost of our Friends : 
Our Legions are brim full, our cause is ripe, 
The Enemy encreaseth euery day, 
We at the height, are readie to decline. 
There is a Tide in the affayres of men. 
Which taken at the Flood, leades on to Fortune : 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life, 
Is bound in Shallowes, and in Miseries. 
On such a full Sea are we now a-float, 
And we must take the current when it serues, 
Or loose our Ventures. 

Cassi. Then with your will go on : wee'l along 
Our selues, and meet them at Philippi. 

Bru. The deepe of night is crept vpon our talke, 
And Nature must obey Necessitie, 
Which we will niggard with a little rest : 
There is no more to say. 

Cassi. No more, good night. 
Early to morrow will we rise, and hence. 

Enter Lucius. 

Bru. Lucius my Gowne : farewell good Messala 
Good night Titinius : Noble, Noble Caasius, 
Good night, and good repose. 

Cassi. O my deere Brother : 
This was an ill beginning of the night : 
Neuer come such diuisiou 'tweene our soules : 
Let it not Brutus. 



200 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Enter Lucius with the Gowne. 

Bru. Euery thing is well. 

Cassi. Good night my Lord. 

Bru. Good night good Brother. 

Tit. Messa. Good night, Lord Brutus. 

Bru. Farewell euery one. [Exeunt. 

Giue me the Gowne. Where is thy Instrument ? 

Luc. Heere in the Tent. 

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ? 
Poore knaue I blame thee not, thou art ore-watch'd. 
Call Claudio, and some other of my men, 
He haue them sleepe on Cushions in my Tent. 

Luc. VaiTus, and Claudio. 

Enter Varrus and Claudio. 

Var. Cals my Lord ? 

Bru. I pray you sirs, lye in my Tent and sleepe, 
It may be I shall raise you by and by 
On businesse to my Brother Cassius. 

Var. So please you, we will stand. 
And watch your pleasure. 

Bru. I will it not haue it so : Lye downe, good sirs, 
It may be I shall otherwise bethinke me. 
Looke Lucius, heere's the booke I sought for so : 
I put it in the pocket of my gowne. 

Luc. I was sure your Lordship did not giue it me. 

Bru. Beare with me good Boy, I am much forgetful!. 
Canst thou hold vp thy heauie eyes a-while, 
And touch thy Instrument a straine or two ? 

Lue. I my Lord, an't please you. 

Bru. It does my Boy : 
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 

Luc. It is my duty Sir. 

Bru. I should not vrge thy duty past thy might, 
I know yong bloods looke for a time of rest. 

Luc. I haue slept my Lord already. 

Bru. It was well done, and thou shalt sleepe againe : 
I will not hold thee long. If I do Hue, 
I will be good to thee. 

Musi eke, and a Song. 

This is a sleepy Tune : O Murd'rous slumber ! 
Layest thou thy Leaden Mace vpon my Boy, 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 201 

That playes thee Musicke ? Gentle knaue good night : 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee : 
If thou do'st nod, thou break'st thy Instrument, 
He take it from thee, and (good Boy) good night. 
Let me see, let me see ; is not the Leafe turn'd downe 
Where I left reading ? Heere it is I thinke. 

Eiiier the Ghost of Casar. 

How ill this Taper burnes. Ha ! Who comes heere ? 

I thinke it is the weakenesse of mine eyes 

That shapes this monstrous Apparition.' 

It comes vpon me : Art thou any thing ? 

Art thou some God, some Angell, or some DIuell, 

That mak'st my blood cold, and my haire to stare ? 

Speake to me, what thou art ? 

Ghost. Thy euill Spirit Brutus ? 

Bru. Why com'st thou ? 

Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. 

Bru. Well : then I shall see thee againe ? 

Ghost. I, at Philippi. 

Bru. Why I will see thee at Philippi then : 
Now I haue taken heart, thou vanishest. 
Ill Spirit, I would hold more talke with thee. 
Boy, Lucius, Varrus, Claudia, Sirs : Awake : 
Claudio. 

Luc. The strings my Lord, are false. 

Bru. He thinkes he still is at his Instrument. 
Lucius, awake. 

Luc. My Lord. 

Bru. Did'st thou dreame Lucius, that thou so cryedst out ? 

Luc. My Lord, I do not know that I did cry. 

Bru. Yes that thou did'st : Did'st thou see any thing ? 

Luc. Nothing my Lord. 

Bru. Sleepe againe Lucius : Sirra Claudio, Fellow, 
Thou : Awake. 

Var. My Lord. 

Clau. My Lord. 

Bru. Why did you so cry out sirs, in your sleepe ? 

Both. Did we my Lord ? 

Bru. I : saw you any thing ? 

Var. No my Lord, I saw nothing. 



202 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Clau. Nor I my Lord. 

Bru. Go, and commend me to my Brother Cassius : 
Bid him set on his Powres betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

Both. It shall be done my Lord. [Bxeunt. 

ACTUS QUrNTUS. 



I>nter Octauius , Antony , and their Army. 

Octa. Now Antony, our hopes are answered, 
You said the Enemy would not come downe. 
But keepe the Hilles and vpper Regions : 
It proues not so : their battailes are at hand, 
They meane to warne vs at PUlippi heere : 
Answering before we do demand of them. 

Ant. Tut I am in their bosomes, and I know 
Wherefore they do it : They could be content 
To visit other places, and come downe 
With fearefull brauery : thinking by this face 
To fasten in our thoughts that they haue Courage : 
But 'tis not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mes. Prepare you Generals, 
The Enemy comes on in gallant shew : 
Their bloody signe of Battell is hung out, 
And something to be done immediately. 

Ant. Octauius, leade your Battaile softly on 
Vpon the left hande of the euen Field. 

Octa. Vpon the right hand I, keepe thou the left. 

Ant. Why do you crosse me in this exigent ? 

Octa. I do not crosse you : but I will do so. [March. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, If their Army. 

Bru. They stand, and would haue parley. 
Cassi. Stand fast Titinius, we must out and talke. 
Octa. Mark Antony, shall we giue signe of Battaile ? 
Ant. No Ccesar, we will answer on their Charge. 
Make forth, the Generals would haue some words. 
Oct. Stirre not vntill the Signal. 
Bru. Words before blowes : is it so Countrymen ? 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 203 

Octa. Not that we loue words better, as you do. 

Bru. Good words are better then bad strokes, Octauius. 

Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you giue good words. 
Witnesse the hole you made in Ccesars heart, 
Crying long Hue, hail Ccesar. 

Cassi. Antony, 
The posture of your blowes are yet vnknownc ; 
But for your words, they rob the Hibla Bees, 
And leaue them Hony-lesse. 

Ant. Not stinglesse too. 

Bru. O yes, and soundlesse too : 
For you haue stolne their buzzing Antony, 
And very wisely threat before you sting. 

Ant. Villains : you did not so, when your vile daggers 
Hackt one another in the sides of Caesar: 
You shew'd your teethes like Apes, 
And fawn'd hke Hounds, 

And bow'd like Bondmen, kissing Ccesars feete ; 
Whil'st damned Caska, like a Curre, behlnde 
Strooke Ccesar on the necke. O you Flatterers. 

Cassi. Flatterers ? Now Brutus thanke your selfe, 
This tongue had not offended so to day, 
If Cassius might haue rul'd. 

Octa. Come, come, the cause. If arguing make vs swet, 
The proofe of it will turne to redder drops : 
Looke, I draw a Sword against Conspirators, 
When thinke you that the Sword goes vp againe ? 
Neuer till Ccesars three and thirtie wounds 
Be well aueng'd ; or till another Ccesar 
Haue added slaughter to the Sword of Traitors. 

Brut. CcBsar, thou canst not dye by Traitors hands, 
Vnlesse thou bring'st them with thee. 

Octa. So I hope : 
I was not borne to dye on Brutus Sword. 

Bru. O if thou wer't the Noblest of thy Straine, 
Yong-man, thou could'st not dye more honourable. 

Cassi. A peeuish School-boy, worthies of such honor, 
loyn'd with a Masker, and a Reueller. 
Ant. Old Cassius still. 
Octa. Come Antony : away. 
Defiance Traitors, hurle we in your teeth. 



204 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

If you dare figlit to day, come to the Field ; 
If not, when you haue stomackes. 

[Exit Octauius, Antony, and Army. 

Cassi. Why now blow winde, swell Billow, 
And swimme Barke : 
The Storme is vp, and all is on the hazard. 

Bru. Ho Lucillius, hearke, a word with you. 

[Lucillius and Messala stand forth. 

Luc. My Lord. 
Cassi. Messala. 

Messa. What sayes my Generall ? 
Cassi. Messala, this is my Birth-day ; as this very day 
Was Cassius borne. Give me thy hand Messala : 
Be thou my witnesse, that against my will 
(As Pompey was) am I compelled to set 
Vpon one Battell all our Liberties. 
You know, that I held Epicurus strong, 
And his Opinion : Now I change my minde. 
And partly credit things that do presage. 
Comming from Sardis, on our former Ensigne 
Two mighty Eagles fell, and there they pearch'd, 
Gorging and feeding from our Soldiers hands, 
Who to Pliilippi heere consorted vs : 
This Morning are they fled away, and gone, 
And in their steeds, do Rauens, Crowes, and Kites 
Fly ore our heads, and downward looke on vs 
As we were sickely prey ; their shadowes sceme 
A Canopy most fataU, vnder which 
Our Army lies, ready to giue vp the Ghost. 
Messa. Beleeue not so. 
Cassi. I but beleeue it partly, 
For I am fresh of spirit, and resolu'd 
To meete all perils, very constantly. 
Bru. Euen so Lucillius. 
Cassi. Now most noble Brutus, 
The Gods to day stand friendly, that we may 
Louers in peace, leade on our dayes to age. 
But since the affayres of men rests still incertaine, 
Let's reason with the woret that may befall. 
K we do lose this Battaile, then is this 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 205 

The very last time we shall speake together : 
What are you then determined to do ? 

Bru. Euen by the rule of that Philosophy, 
By which I did blame Cato, for the death 
Which he did giue himselfe, I know not how: 
But I do finde it Cowardly, and vile, 
For feare of what might fall, so to preuent 
The time of life, arming my selfe with patience, 
To stay the prouidence of some high Powers, 
That gouerne vs below. 

Cassi. Then, if we loose this Battaile, 
You are contented to be led in Triumph 
Thorow the streets of Rome. 

Bru. No Cassius, no : 
Thinke not thou Noble Komane, 
That euer Brutus will go bound to Rome, 
He beares too great a minde. But this same day 
Must end that worke, the Ides of March begun. 
And whether we shall meete againe, I know not : 
Therefore our euerlasting farewell take ; 
For euer, and for euer, farewell Cassius, 
If we do meete againe, why we shall smile ; 
If not, why then this parting was well made. 

Cassi. For euer, and for euer, farewell Brutus : 
If we do meete againe, wee'l smile indeede ; 
If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made. 

Bru. Why then leade on. O that a man might know 
The end of this dayes businesse, ere it come : 
But it sufficeth, that the day will end. 
And then the end is knowne. Come ho, away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 
Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 

Bru. Ride, ride Messala, ride and giue these Billes 

Vnto the Legions, on the other side. 

[Lowd Alarum. 

Let them set on at once : for I perceiue 

But cold demeanor in Octauio's wing : 

And sodaine push giues them the ouerthrow : 

Ride, ride Messala, let them all come downe. [Exeunt. 



206 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

SCENE III. 
Alarmns. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 

Cassi. O looke Titinius, looke, the Vlllaines flye : 
My selfe haue to mine owne turn'd Enemy : 
This Enslgne heere of mine was turning backe, 
I slew the Coward, and did take it from him. 

Titin. O Cassius, Brutus gaue the word too early, 
Who hauing some aduantage on Octauius, 
Tooke It too eagerly : his Soldiers fell to spoyle, 
Whil'st we by Antony are all Inclos'd. 

Mnter Pindarus. 

Pind. Fly further off my Lord : flye further off. 
Mark Antony is In your Tents my Lord : 
Flye therefore Noble Cassius, flye far off. 

Cassi. This Hill is farre enough. Looke, look Titinius 
Are those my Tents where I percelue the fire ? 

Tit. They are, my Lord. 

Cassi. Titinius, If thou louest me, 
Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurres in him, 
Till he haue brought thee vp to yonder Troopes 
And heere againe, that I may rest assur'd 
Whether yond Troopes, are Friend or Enemy. 

Tit. I will be heere againe, euen with a Thought. [Exit. 

Cassi. Go Pindarus, get higher on that hill, 
My sight was euer thicke : regard Titinius, 
And tell me what thou not'st about the Field. 
This day I breathed first, Time is come round, 
And where I did begin, there shall I end. 
My life is run his compasse. SIrra, what newes ? 

Pind. Aboue. O my Lord. 

Cassi. What newes ? 

Pind. Titinius is enclosed round about 
With Horsemen, that make to him on the Spurre, 
Yet he spurres on. Now they are almost on him : 
Now Titinius. Now some light. O he lights too. 
Hee's tane. [Showt. 

And hearke, they shout for ioy. 

Cassi. Come downe, behold no more : 
O Coward that I am, to Hue so long. 
To see my best Friend tane before my face. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 207 

Enter Findarus. 

Come hither sirrah : In Parthia did I take thee Prisoner, 
And then I swore thee, sauing of thy life, 
That whatsoeuer I did bid thee do, 
Thou should'st attempt it. Come now, keepe thine oath, 
Now be a Free-man, and with this good Sword 
That ran through Ccesars bowels, search this bosome. 
Stand not to answer : Heere, take thou the Hilts. 
And when my face is couer'd, as 'tis now, 

Guide thou the Sword Ccesar, thou art reueng'd, 

Euen with the Sword that kill'd thee. 

Pin. So, I am free. 
Yet would not so haue beene 
Durst I haue done my will, O Cassius, 
Farre from this Country Pindarus shall run. 
Where neuer Roman shall take note of him. 

Enter Titinhcs and Messala. 

Messa. It is but change, Titinius : for Octauius 
Is ouerthrowne by Noble Brutus power. 
As Cassius Legions are by Antony. 

Titin. These tydings will well comfort Cassius. 

Messa. Where did you leaue him ? 

Titin. All disconsolate. 
With Pindarus his Bondman, on this Hill. 

Messa. Is not that he that lyes vpon the ground ? 

Titin. He lies not like the Lining. O my heart ! 

Messa. Is not that hee ? 

Titin. No, this was he Messala, 
But Cassius is no more. O setting Sunne : 
As in thy red Rayes thou doest sinke to night ; 
So in his red blood Cassius day is set. 
The Sunne of Rome is set. Our day is gone, 
Clowds, Dewes, and Dangers come ; our deeds are done : 
Mistrust of my successe hath done this deed. 

Messa. Mistrust of good successe hath done this deed. 
O hatefull Error, Melancholies Childe ; 
Why do'st thou shew to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are not ? O Error soone conceyu'd, 
Thou neuer com'st vnto a happy byrth. 
But kil'st the Mother that engendred thee. 



208 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Tit. What Pindarus ? Where art thou Pindarus ? 

Messa. Seeke him Titinius, whilst I go to meet 
The Noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
Into his eares ; I may say thrusting it : 
For piercing Steele, and Darts inuenomed, 
Shall be as welcome to the eares of Brutus, 
As tydings of this sight. 

Tit. Hye you Messala. 
And I will seeke for Pindarus the while : 
Why did'st thou send me forth braue Cassius ? 
Did I not meet thy Friends, and did not they 
Put on my Browes this wreath of Victorie, 
And bid me giue it thee ? Did'st thou not hear their showts ? 
Alas, thou hast misconstrued euery thing. 
But hold thee, take this garland on thy Brow, . 
Thy Brutus bid me giue it thee, and I 
Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, 
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius : 
By your leaue Gods : This is a Romans part, 
Come Cassius sword, and finde Titinius hart. [Dies. 

Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, Yong Cato, Strata, Volumnius, and Jjuoillius. 

Bru. Where, where Messala, doth his body lye ? 

Messa. Loe yonder, and Titinius mourning it. 

Bru. Titinius face is vpward, 

Cato. He is slaine. 

Bru. O lulius Ccesar, thou art mighty yet, 
Thy Spirit walkes abroad, and turnes our Swords 
In our owne proper Entrailes. f^"'" -Aiarumi. 

Cato. Braue Titinius, 
Looke where he haue not crown'd dead Cassius, 

Bru. Are yet two Romans lining such as these ? 
The last of all the Romans, far thee well : 
It is impossible, that euer Rome 
Should breed thy fellow. Friends I owe mo teares 
To this dead man, then you shall see me pay. 
I shall finde time, Cassius : I shall finde time. 
Come therefore, and to Tharsus send his body, 
His Funerals shall not be in our Campe, 
Least it discomfort vs. Lucillius come. 
And come yong Cato, let vs to the field, 
Lahio and Flauio set our Battailes on : 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 209 

'TIs three a clocke, and Romans yet ere night 

We shall try Fortune in a second tight. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 
Alarum. Enter Brutus, Mexsala, Cato, Lucillms, and Flauius. 

Bru. Yet Country-men : O yet, hold vp your heads. 

Cato. What Bastard doth not ? Who will go with me ? 
I will proclaime my name about the Field. 
I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe, 
A Foe to Tyrants, and my Countries Friend. 
I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato., hoe. 

Enter Sottldiers, and fight. 

And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I, 
Brutus my Countries friend : know me for Brutus. 

Luc. O yong and noble Cato art thou downe ? 
Why now thou dyest, as brauely as Titmius, 
And may'st be honoured, being Cato's Sonne. 

Sold. Yeeld, or thou dyest. 

Luc. Onely I yeeld to dye : 
There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight : 
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 

Sold. We must not : a Noble Prisoner. 

Enter Antony. 

2. Sold. Eoome hoe : tell Antony Brutus is tane. 

1. Sold. He tell thee newes. Heere comes the General!, 
Brutus is tane, Brutus is tane, my Lord. 

Ant. Where is hee ? 

Luc. Safe Antony, Brutus is safe enough : 
I dare assure thee that no Enemy 
Shall euer take aliue the noble Brutus : 
The Gods defend him from so great a shame, 
When you do finde him, or aliue, or dead, 
He will be found like Brutus, like himselfe. 

Ant. This is not Brutus friend, but I assure you, 
A prize no lesse in worth ; keepe this man safe, 
Giue him all kindnesse. I had rather haue 
Such men my Friends, then Enemies. Go on, 
And see where Brutus be aliue or dead, 
And bring vs word vnto Octauius Tent : 

How euery thing is chanc'd. [Exeunt. 

U 



210 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strata, and Volumnius. 

Brut. Come poore remaines of friendes, rest on this Rocke. 

cut. Statillius shew'd the Torch-light, but my Lord 
He came not backe : he is or tane, or slaine. 

Brut. Sit thee downe, Clitus : slaying is the word, 
It is a deed in fashion. Hearke thee, Clitus. 

cut. What I, my Lord ? No, not for all the World. 

Brut. Peace then, no words. 

cut. lie rather kill my selfe. 

Brut. Hearke thee, Dardanius. 

Dard. Shall I doe such a deed ? 

cut. O Dardanius. 

Dard. O Clitus . 

cut. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 

Dard. To kill him, Clitus : looke he meditates. 

cut. Now is that Noble Vessell full of griefe. 
That it runnes ouer euen at his eyes. 

Brut. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word. 

Volum. What sayes my Lord ? 

Brut. Why this, Volumnius : 
The ghost of Ccesar hath appeared to me 
Two seuerall times by Night : at Sardis, once ; 
And this last Night, here in Philippi fields : 
I know my houre is come. 

Volum. Not so, my Lord. 

Bi'ut. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
Thou seest the World, Volumnius, how it goes, 
Our Enemies haue beat vs to the Pit : f^""' Alarums. 

It is more worthy, to leape in our selues. 
Then tarry till they push vs. Good Volumnius, 
Thou know'st, that we two went to Schoole together : 
Euen for that our loue of old, I prethee 
Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whilest I runne on it. 

Vol. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord. 

[Alarum still. 

Cly. Fly, flye, my Lord, there is no tarrying heere. 

Bru. Farewell to you, and you, and you Volumnius. 
Strata, thou hast bin all this while asleepe : 
Farewell to thee, to Strata, Countrymen : 
My heart dotii ioy, that yet in all my life, 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 211 

I found no man, but he was true to me. 

I shall haue glory by this loosing day 

More then Octauius, and Marke Antony, 

By this vile Conquest shall attaine vnto. 

So fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue 

Hath almost ended his lines History : 

Night hangs vpon mine eyes, my Bones would rest, 

That haue but labour'd, to attaine this houre. 

Alarum. Cry witliin, Flye, flye, flye. 

Cly. Fly, my Lord, flye. 

Bru. Hence : I will follow : 
I prythee Strata, stay thou by thy Lord, 
Thou art a fellow of a good respect : 
Thy life hath had some smatch of Honor in it, 
Hold then my Sword, and turne away thy face. 
While I do run vpon it. Wilt thou Strata ? 

Stra. Giue me your hand first. Fare you wel my Lord. 

Bi'u. Farewell good Strata. Ccesar, now be still, 

I killed not thee with halfe so good a will. [Dyes. 

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octauius, Messala, Lucillius, and the Army. 

Ocla. What man is that ? 

Messa, My Masters man. Strata, where is thy Master ? 

Stra. Free from the Bondage you are in Messala, 
The Conquerors can but make a fire of him : 
For Brutus only ouercanie himselfe, 
And no man else hath Honor by his death. 

Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee Brutus 
That thou hast prou'd Lucillius saying true. 

Octa. All that seru'd Brutus, I will entertaine them. 
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 

Stra. I, if Messala will preferre me to you. 

Octa. Do so, good Messala. 

Messa. How dyed my Master Strata ? 

Stra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it. 

Messa. Octauius, then take him to follow thee, 
That did the latest seruice to my Master. 

Ant. This was the Noblest Eoman of them all : 
All the Conspirators saue onely bee. 
Did that they did, in enuy of great Ccesar : 



212 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

He, onely in a generall honest thought, 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle, and the Elements 
So mixt in him, that Nature might stand vp, 
And say to all the world ; This was a man. 

Octa. According to his Vertue, let vs vse him 
Withall Respect, and Rites of Buriall. 
Within my Tent his bones to night shall ly, 
Most like a Souldier ordered Honourably : 
So call the Field to rest, and let's away. 
To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt omnes. 

NOTES ON JULIUS CiESAR. 

Act I. SCENE I. Being mecliani call, mechanical men, ?. e. mechanics. The 
once prevalent usage of doubling the final consonant in an unaccented syllable is re- 
tained in many words in this edition of Shakespeare. The I was usually doubled in such 
cases at this period of our literature. — Oxiglit not 'vvallce. Ought is here followed 
by the inf. without the sign to, which was originally a prep, followed by the gerund. 
Besides the proper auxiliaries, other verbs, as bid, dare, etc., are sometimes followed 
by the inf. without the prep. See "Art of Composition," § 282, Obs. 3. — lialioriug 
day, day for laboring. Laboring is best regarded here as a gerundive noun used 
adjectively to modify day. Cf. meeting-house , a house for meeting. In such use of 
nouns to modify other nouns in respect of an attribute of relation, a hyphen would 
now be used to avoid the ambiguity, as laboring-day. See "Art of Composition," 
§ 297, Obs. Cf. working day, S. A. 1299. — Trade. We must suppose here a collo- 
quial omission of the preposition. The sense is : of ivhat trade. — Tliou. The sec- 
ond person was still in Shakespeare's time used in addressing an inferior. The plural 
is used in the replies to the Tribune. It is used also by the Tribune himself in con- 
nection with the title of address, Sir. — Dost. Doest and doeth are now the more 
common forms for the verb when used as a principal verb ; the abbreviated forms 
dost and doth, when it is used as an auxiliary. This distinction was not observed 
formerly. — Naughty, adj. from naught, meaning originally, of no account, 
worthless. — Proper men, true, veritable men, that is, such as men are in their 
own proper nature as designed in their creation. — Neats, A.-S. neat, cattle. — 
His trivimpli. This triumph was on occasion of Caesar's return from Spain, in 
October B. c. 44, after the defeat of the sons of Pompey at Munda, March 17th, 
B. c. 45. It is said that in this most desperately fought battle, Caasar lost 1,000, and 
the enemy 30,000 slain. — Knew yon not Pompey? The punctuation is 
changed here better to express the sense after the received editions. — Pass the 
streets, walk the streets. Pass and pace are onlj' different spellings of the same 
word. Fr. passer. 

Weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 

A bold hyperbole, it is true, but no intrinsic contradiction ; as the meaning is, till 
the stream shall be so raised from its lowest mark that it shall touch its highest 
banks. Tears is specifying object of the verb weep. See "Art of Composition," § 249. 
— "Wliere, whether. This word was pronounced as a monosyllable, not uncom- 



1 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 213 

monly, in early times. Thus Wycliffe spells it both in full, whether, and also wher, 
and where, in Kom. xiv. 8. " For where we lyven we lyven to the lord, and whether 
we dien, we dien to the lord ; therfor wher we lyven or dien we ben of the lord." — 
Ceremonies, ceremonial vestments. — Feast of Iiiipercal. This was a fes- 
tival of great antiquity, celebrated on the 15th day of February in each year, ia 
honor of Lupercus, the god of fertility. After the sacrifice, the priests, called Lu- 
perci, ran through the streets with thongs cut from the skius of the goats that had 
been sacrificed, striking all who placed themselves in their way, as a symbolical act 
of purification. Hence the name of the month — February — from the verb signi- 
fying to purify. 

Scene ii. In this scene Antony is represented as one of the Luperci, oificiating in 
the festival and running with the goat-skin thongs. He was made High-priest of 
the Julian class of the College of Luperci by Julius Csesar. With the exception of 
Docius, the persons represented in this scene are historical characters. Calpurnia is 
in this play spelt Calphurnia, in analogy with the common change of the smooth 
mute in classic words to the aspirate. Cf. Anthony ; also in 'Wyclifre, scarioth, trone. 
— Tlie Ides of March. The Romans reckoned the days of the mouth from the 
kalends, which fell on the first day, the nones, which fell on the fifth, and the ides, 
which fell on the thirteenth, except in March, May, July, and October, when the 
Bones fell on the seventh, and the idea on the fifteenth day of the mouth. The ides 
of March were accordingly on the fifteenth. — Sennet, a stage direction indicating 
a flourish of ti'umpets. — Course, the running. — Gamesom, disposed to sport. 
The suffix some, of the same root as savie, has the same force as -ly, that is, like. 
The final e was not uncommonly omitted in these compounds. — Qviiclte, lively. 
He, I'll — a spelling conformed to the pronunciation. — As, which, correlative of 
that. This particle, originally a mere sign of comparison, has come to be treated as 
a relative, the proper relative having dropped out in the elliptical expression of pop- 
ular speech. — Meerely, wholly, exclusively. — Passions of some difference, 
somewhat conflicting passions. — Proper to my self e, peculiar to myself. — 
Giiie some soyle, somewhat sully. Soil and sully are from the same root. Cf. 
A. -&. sylian, to soil, to sully; Old Pi. soillier. — Behauioiirs, behavings. The 
termination of this word is French ; but the stem is purely Anglo-Saxon. The 
word points to the outward deportment. The plural form is now obsolete. — Be, 
the old indicative. — Passion, feeling. — liespect, repute or esteem. — leal- 
ous on me, towards me. Cf. glad onH, sc. iii. — Iiaughter, object of laughter. — 
Did vse, were wont. Use, in the sense of to be ivont, is at the present time ob- 
solete. — Stale, make vapid or insipid. As in Ant. and Cleopatra, II. ii. : — 

" Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
Her infinite variety." 

So also Act. IV. sc. i. — Protester, one who puts himself forward as a friend. — 
Scandall, slander or defame; a common use formerly. — Prof esse my selfe, 

speak out my secret thoughts. — Rout, company. — I, phonetic speUing of aye, 
indeed. — Indifferently, without change of feeling, with equanimity, calmly. 
The meaning is : "Let honor and death confront me together; it shall not disturb 
me." — Pauour, countenance, appearance. Cf. " well-favored kine," " ill-favored 
kine." Gen. xli. 4. — Had as liefe not toe. Liefe is a nearly obsolete word, 
signifying gladly. Had is the optative conditional for looidd have. The meaning is : 
" I would have (that is, hold) as gladly not be," etc. Be is the old infinitive written 
without the to. See n. Versions, 7. There is an intended assonance in the use of 
lief atkX live. — Chafing with her shores, violently colHding with its shores. 
Heat being one effect, and so a sign of physical violence, to make hot, to cliafe (Lat. 
calidum facere), by an easy figurative use comes to signify violent motion, especially 
by friction or collision. — Lusty, powerful, vigorous, formerly the more common 



214 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

meaning; A.-S. lust, desire, will, power. — Hearts of controller sie, hearts 
of opposition, contesting wills. — Arriue the point. The preposition at was 
once frequently omitted after arrive. So Milton : — 

" Ere he arrive 
The happy ile." — P. L. ii. 409, 410. 

His lustre. His was the genitive of the Anglo-Saxon neuter personal pronoun 
hit, as well as of the masculine he. The initial A was early dropped from the nom- 
inative and accusative hit ; but the genitive his for the neuter was long retained. 
Its does not occur in the King James version of the Bible, but his is used for the 
neuter genitive ; as, " If the salt have lost his savor." Matt. v. 13. — I, for aye, aa 
above. — "Walkes. Walls is generally accepted as the preferable reading. — 
Borne indeed, and Koome enough. Room, it would seem from the join- 
ing of these words here and elsewhere, was once pronounced like rome. Cf. bake., 
lake, dome, etc., old spellings of book, look, doom, etc. The Anglo-Saxon was rzim. 
— Onely, only. The pronunciation was doubtless as if spelled ownly. So AVycliffe 
wrote oonli, 2 Cor. vii. 7. — Broolt'd, borne ; from A.-S. brucan, to use, to bear. 
Cf. " So mote I broulcen wel min eyen twey," so may I use or enjoy my two eyes. 
Chaucer, ver. 15,306. —Ayme, conjecture. So Spenser: "It is impossible by 
aim to tell it." From Fr. es7ne,La.t. cestimare. — So with loue I might in- 
treat you, if, or that, I in kindness might entreat you. So should be included 
within the parenthesis. — Had rather, would have sooner to be. See above, 
note on had lief. — To repute himself e, etc., inf. with its sign to is like be, ob- 
ject of had. — As, is here used as the correlative of the demonstrative pronoun 
these. A similar use occurs near the beginning of this scene. — X.ilte, likely. The 
derivation of this meaning from like, in its primitive sense of same, identical, is 
natural, as the cause is naturally identified with its proper effect. — "Worthy note, 
worthy of note. The omission of the preposition before a noun limiting an adjective 
was more common in the earlier stages of our literature, as in the inflected or A.-S. 
stage of the language, the inflection expressed the relation. — Ferret. The ferret 
has redeyes. — In conference, in consultation. — A-nights, on nights. See 
below for a-shouting. " When Csesar's friends complained unto him of Antonius 
and Dolobella, that they pretended some mischief towards him, he answered : As for 
those fat men and smooth-combed heads, quoth he, I never reckon of them ; but 
those pale-visaged and carrion-lean people, I fear them most; meaning Brutus and 
Cassius." North's Plutarch, quoted by Craik. — Well giueii, well endowed in 
character. — My name, I. So the Scriptures everywhere; as, "for my name's 
sake," instead of " for my sake." Name is the expression for the person. In ac- 
cordance with the general analogy of language, the internal is denoted by the out- 
wai'd, the spirit by the body. — Yond, the old spelling of yon ; A.-S. geond, be- 
yond, cognate of A.-S. g-en, moreover, which stem appears in our ag-am (formerly 
agen). The d is euphonic and has now dropped away in our yon. It remains in 
fteyojirf, a compound of the prep, of condition be and yond. Yonder is a compar. 
form, meaning etymologically, "more beyond." — He heares no musicke. 
The sentiment is akin to that in the familiar passage in the Merchant of Venice, 
V. i. : — 

" The man that hath no music in liimself, 
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; 
Tlie motions of his spirit are dull as night. 
And his affections darlt as Erebus; 
Let no such man be trusted." 

Be ueuer at heart's ease. Indicative present, as above, be you one. — 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 215 

Whiles. Old genitive. It has assumed a t like against, ainongst, midst, etc., 
■which were genitives and were once written agens, amonges, midries. See § 36. — 
To-day. To is here a preposition. It once had the force of at. — A slioutiiig. A 
is a contraction of the Anglo-Saxon preposition o>i or an, like a in a-nights above 
So also a days, A.-S. andaegas, on days, by day. Cf. afoot, afield, ashore, etc., ou 
foot, etc. — I marry 'was't, aye, marr3', was it. Marry is a perversion of Maria 
or Mary, the name of the mother of Jesus, used in adjuration. — Euerie time 
gentler tlien otlier, every time more gently than the preceding time. — 
Howted, hooted. The word seems to have indicated contemptibleness in the 
subject rather than as now in the object. We can now speak of reputable men as 
hooting at a contemptible thing ; but Shakespeare's use of the word indicated that 
they who hooted were disreputable. Hooting was the clamor of low people. So ia 
Coriolanus, Act lY. so. vi. : — 

" You are they 

Who made the ayre unwholsome, when you cast 

Your stinking, greasie caps, in hooting 

At Coriolanus exile." 

Swooiided, swooned, Cf. vulgar droivnded. It will be observed that the language 
given to Casca is in keeping with his character as cast in this play. Casca thus 
speaks in prose, not in verse as the higher characters represented. — He liatli tlie 
falling sicknesse. Plutarch, § 17, says that Csesar was subject to attacks of 
epilepsy. — Tag-ragge. These words were earlier connected by the conj., tag and 
rag. Bobtail was added to accumulate the marks of low life in one expression. 
Shakespeax'e uses, in Coriolanus, III. i. the single word tag : " Will you hence be- 
fore the ^afi- return ? " — He plucUt me ope Ills doublet, he plucked open 
his doublet. Me is generally regarded as expletive ; but it seems once to have been 
used in the sense of one or self, as : " He sendes me thys," he himself sends this. 
" The Pearl," a poem of the 14th century. Shakespeare elsewhere uses ope as an 
adjective, as — 

" The mouth of passage shall we fling ope." — King John, 111. li. 
" I'll break ope the gate. " — Comedy of Errors, III. ii. 

And, an, if, sign of conditional. So also below : " Nay and I tell you that." So 
Chaucer, C. T. 15,614 : " Ther is a conseil, and ye wol it here." — I am promis'd 
forth. As we say " I am engaged out. — How-eiier lie puts on this tardie 
forme, notwithstanding he puts on this appearance of slowness or dullness. It is 
to represent this character of Casca that Shakespeare puts Casca's speeches in prose, 
as if an inferior personage. — Disgest, digest. — Think of the ■world, think 
of what the world will judge of you. Cassius' whole appeal is to Brutus' sensibility 
to esteem. " Honor is the subject of his story." 

From that it is dispos'd, from that to which it is disposed of itself. — 
Caesar doth heare me hard, doth dishke me. So, II. i. : " Caius Ligarius 
doth beare CjBsar hard ; " and III. i. : " If you beare me hard." — He should 
not humor me. The meaning is : " If Csesar loved me as he does Brutus, 
Brutus should not control my humor or bent of mind, as I control or intend to 
control Brutus." — In seuerall hands, in several handwritings. To be con- 
nected in sense with the next verse. 

Scene hi. All the s-svay of earth, all of earth that can sway or move. — 
"Vnlirme, a Lat. stem with Eng. prefix. Its force differs from that of infirm. — 
Exalted ■vi'ith, exalted to a height even with. — Teinpest-dropping-firo. 
These words, as originally joined by hyphens, give a far more energetic readin.t; — 
" a fire dropping tempest," than the common text, "a tempest droppini; fire." — 
Any thing more wonderfull, anything more that was wonderful. —1 ha' 
not since put vp my sword, an adverbial clause modifying some such expres- 



216 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

sion understood as, so lately that I had not, etc.— Glar'd, in first editions glazed. — 
Howting, another spelling of hooting. See above, so. ii. — Keasoiis, estab- 
lished modes or ways of operation, rules. Of. Lat. vitx ratio, plan of life; mea 
ratio in dicendo, my method in speaking ; " SEepe jam scribendi totum consilium 
rationcmque mutavi ; " "I have often changed my whole plan and method of writ- 
ing." — 

They are iiortentous things 
Vnto the clymate, 
They are portentous to the region which they respect. — Cleane, adv. entirely. 
Cf. " Until all the people were passed clean over Jordan." Josh. iii. 17. " The earth 
is dean dissolved." Isa. xxiv, 19. — Thunder- stone, the stone supposed by the 
ancients to be hurled in the thunder ; thunder-bolt. — From qualitie and 
Iciude. In a different way from their natural disposition. Quality is used, in a 
more general import than is now common, to mean character generally. Kind was 
the old word signifying jiatore. — Then thyself e, or me. The distinctions of case 
by inflection were broken down by the Danes, so that they were disregarded for 
slight reasons. — Woe the Avhile, woe to the time. — Gouern'd with our 
mothers spirits. With was used to denote relation of agency as well as of instru- 
mentality. — My ans-were must he made, I must answer. — Flearing, 
trifling. Probably connected with AS.JIeardian, to trifle. — Be factious for 
i-edresse of all these grief es, be active to redress all these grievances. — By 
this, by this time ; already. — Element, the sky. — In f auor's. In first edition, 
Is favors. Favor is here used in the sense of appearance, as elsewhere. — Incor- 
porate to our attempts, united into our body for our undertakings. — Stay'd 
for, waited for. Stay used intransitively now forms staid, in the preterit. — I am 
glad on 't. On was the proper prep, for expi-essing this relation. — Pretoi'S 
chayre. Brutus had been made Prgetor by Ceesar after the defeat of Pompey. 
Plutarch says that " the conspirators put billets night after night in the tribunal 
which he used as prastor, mostly in these terms, ' Thou sleepest, Brutus ; ' or, ' Thou 
art not Brutus.' " — Decius Brutus. His proper name was Decimus Brutus. 
There was doubtless an error in transcribing. Shakespeare followed his immediate 
copy, North's translation. Appian, according to received editions at least, wrote the 
name AeK/xos, leaving out the i. De Bell. Civ., II. cxi. — Hie. hasten ; A.-S. hig an, 
to hasten, from hige, mind, spirit. The speech of Olnna, in this scene. Yes you are, is 
variously arranged by critics. The pronunciation gives no trouble. No one can 
mistake the intended rhythm. It is the division into verses for the eye that 
occasions the difficulty. There must be a broken verse ; and the arrangement urged 
by Mr. Craik meets the demands of the rhythm better than the others that have 
been proposed. It is : — 

" Yes you are. 
O Cassius, if you could 
But win the noble Brutus to our party." 

Act II. SCENE I. Orchard, yard ; A.-S. ortgeard, yard for herbs, a garden, 
hence any inclosure near the houses. Cf. A.-S. wurt, an herb. 

I Itno-wf no i>ersonall cause, to spurne at him. 
But for the generall, 

I have no personal, but only public grounds against Caesar. — Spvurne at. Spur7i 
is from the A.-S. verb i^)wr«. are, from the noun spar or spurn, also sporn, a heel. 
To spurn at is to heel at, to throw the heel at, to kick at. — That craues vvarie 
walking. 2%at may possibly be a relative like the same word in the preceding 
clause ; or it may be the demonstrative, referring to adder; but it is more energetic 
to regard it as the demonstrative referring to the fact that the bright day brings forth 
the adder. The meaning then would be : Royalty brings the power and the dispo- 



WILLIAM SKAKESPEARE. 217 

sition to harm ; that consideration should make me cautious about confiding in 
Csesar's friendship wlieu on the throne. — Crovviie liim that. A full punctua- 
tion would give crown him, that. The sense is : If we crown him, do that, suppose 
that, and then, etc. — Danger, harm. This was the earlier signification of the 
word, which comes from the Lat. damnum, loss, harm. It came to mean source of 
harm or power to harm. Cf. North's Plutarch: " He brought all the pyrates' ships 
that were in a fleet together within his danger." So Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, 
IV. i. : "You stand within his danger."— Remorse, conscience. — Affections, 
passions. These two words are to be taken in a wider sense than recent use gives 
them.— Proof e, experience. — Base degrees. Wordsfrom the French, literally 
meaning loiu steps. — I,east, lest. See n. F. Q., I. i. 12. — Preuent, used here in 
the old meaning, anticipate, be before him. The language is that of deliberation, 
single words being used for full clauses. We may supply here, we must. — Since 
tlie quarrell, etc. Since anything that Cecsar is now will not justify or afford 
pretext for a quarrel. — Tliese, and tliese, such and such, — Kinde, nature, 
by which the species is characterized. — First of Marcli. This is the uniform 
reading of the old copies. Theobald in his edition, 1733, corrected to Ides. He 
also changed fifteen below to fourteen. — Tlie exlialations. Plutarch speaks 
of various prodigies about the time of Caesar's death : Meteors, strange noises at 
night, owls coming into the forum in full daylight, fiery shapes of men marching 
against each other in the air, victims offered in sacrifice found without hearts, 
etc. — Brutus tlioii sieeij'.st. These words, as repeated, are to be regarded as 
Brutus' repetition of them in his reflections upon the letter. — ■ Tlie genius, and 
tlie Kiortall instruments, the ruling power of the soul and the executive 
functions. — Your brotlier Cassius. Cassius had married Junia, Brutus' 
sister. — Moe, more. See Gloss. — Any marke of fauor, any feature of 
their countenance. — Patli. Mr. Coleridge proposes to read here ;7Z(«, /)a</i having 
been misread for the old form piitte. — Pret, A.-S./reton, to gnaw. Ij'rom this 
comes our word to fret, with its derivatives /7-e</i«?, etc., used in reference to mental 
corrosions, and, also, in architecture, fret-ivork, A.-S. fraetu and fraetwu, orna- 
ment. 

Wliicli is a great -way grooving on tlie Soutli, 
. Weighing tlie youtlifull season of tlie j'eare. 
The point towards which he pointed his sword was far advanced upon the southern 
hemisphere, where, in the early season of the year, the sun should be expected to 
rise. — Tlie face of men, the looks of men. — Sufferance. In passive 
aease, the safferinf(s. — Time's albuse, the abuse that characterizes the time. 
— Idle bed, that is to inaction, to his bed of rest where nothing is to be done. — 
By lottery, as his lot may appoint. The words imply not only that they would 
all fall under Cassar's tyranny, but also that each man's fall would be all uncertain 
beforehand, so that it could not be foreseen and guarded against. — Secret Ro- 
mans, Romans under obligations of secrecy. — Palter. Etymologists have not 
been agreed in regard to the origin of this word. Tooke and others think that 
together with poltroon it is derived from the Latin pollice trunci. But we have Dan. 
palt and pialt meaning rag, old clothes. Palter would thus signify a dealer in rags ; 
hence, not unnaturally, a higgler in worthless things. To palter, used metaphor- 
ically, would mean to play the higgler. Paltry would seem to have the same origin. 
The passage in Macbeth, V. vii., sanctions this derivation : — 

"And be tliese juggling fiends no more believed 
That palter witli us in a double sense ; 
That keep the word of promise to our ear 
And break it to our hope." — 

Honesty, honor. — Cautelous, cautious to excess. — Euen, steadfast. — In- 



218 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

suppressiue,insuppressible. — That or our cause, or our performance. 

Either a.Ti6. or sue originally the same word. Cf. Cowper's "Task," 805-6. See n. 
Mandeville, 13. — Seuerall, in each person respectively. — No tvliit, not at all. 
The A.-S. iviht, creature both animate and inanimate, appears in two forms in Eng- 
lish, ?«/§■/!<, meaning animated creature; ivhit, inanimate creature or thing. — 
Breake witli, break to, communicate with or to, as elsewhere : — 

"If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it : 
And I will break ivith her, and with her father, 
And thou shalt have her." — lluch Ado about Nothing, I. i. 

So, in Two Gentlemen of Verona, III. i. : — 

" Stay with me a while, 
I am to break with thee of some affalra." 

Onely. The spelling of this word varies greatly. 'Wycliffe wrote oonli ; Tyndale, 
only ; King James' version, onely. 

Slirew'd. Not a little labor has been expended on the etymology of this word. 
Various conjectures have been formed and much learning exhibited by critics in the 
discussion of its origin. The solution seems to have lain too near their feet and has 
been hence, perhaps, entirely overlooked. It has the same origin as shrew. Both 
are beyond all question from the A.-S. screw. A shrew is a screw metaphorically ; 
a shrewd person is a screwed person. A shrew-mouse was in A.-S. screaiva, a screw- 
thing. Shreioedness occurs everywhere in Chaucer in the sense of perverseness, 
moral distortion, or twistedness, if the word may be allowed ; as, " In hir houses is 
iniquitee and s/irewer/ness." The Persones Tale. The adjective >';/treioc/ is used by him 
in the same sense. " The backbiter wol turne all that goodnesseup so doun (upside- 
down) to Ids shrnvde entente." Bnd. It maybe remarked that A.-S. words be- 
ginning with sc have in English changed those letters generally into «A,as seal, scarp, 
seep, seine, scrift, have become respectively, sliall, sharp, s/ieep, shine, shrift. This 
is the general rule. Screw is an exception ; but it is pronounced shrew in some 
parts of England. The verb beshreu', presents no difficulty ; as its proper meaning 
is, to declare one to be a shrew or treat one as such, that is. as perverse. 'This is its 
proper import ; not, originally, to curse. — Eiiuy, malice, hatred. — Eiiuions, 
malicious. — And tliat were mucli he should, that he should do this 
•would be much, — would be a great good. — There is no feare in him, no 
ground of fear. — "Whether, here a monosyllable as often elsewhere. — Quite 
from the maine opinion, quite different from the predominant opinion. — 
rantasie, same as fancy, but used in larger meaning. — Ceremonies, religious 
omens, as at sacrifices. — Apparant prodigies, appearing prodigies. — The 
vnaccustonved terror, the unusual frightfulness. Terror, ground of terror. 
a. fear, above. — That vnicornes, etc. Unicorns, it used to be said, were taken 
by getting their liorns stuck in the trunk of a tree behind which the hunter would 
hide to elude their blows ; bears by being dazzled by mirrors, and elephants by be- 
ing driven or enticed into pits. 

Ey the eight houre. As in answer to the question. At what hour ? We say, 
nine ; the phrase is, like many popular expressions, to be grammatically explained 
only by supposing an ellipsis; a,s, by the hour ive name eight. It is not necessary to 
suppose Shakespeare wrote eighth. It is not probable that he did. — Is that the 
vttermost ? Is that the latest? — Eeare Ca?f:ar hard. See above, I. ii. — 
Go along toy him, by lais house. Cf. J?r. cliez lui. — I,et not our lookes 
put on our purposes, express our purposes. — Hony-heauy-dew. If 
this is the proper order of the words, the last hyphen should be omitted according 
to modern rules of punctuation. But we find in this first edition of Shakespeare, 
the hyphen written when the adjective is modified by a word with a hyphen, as tern- 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 219 

pest-rhopping-Jire , I. iii. The meaDing is, deio honeT/-heavy or heavy with honey. 
llolland says, " Plinie," xi. 12, " The pleasant and sweet liquor which we call honie 
is engendred naturally in the aire. About the day-breake betimes in the morning, 
the leaves of trees are found bedewed with honnie, and looke whosoever they are 
that have occasion to be abroad in the aire about the dawning of the mon'ow, they 
may evidently perceive their clothes wet with the clammie humour oi honie." — 
Waiter, wafture. • — Humor, mood of feeling. — His Iioure, its hour, — 
Deare my Lord. My lord should be taken as one word. Cf. Fr. Monsieur, cher 
monxieur, Ital. caro milonlo. — Pliysicall, medicinal, restorative to health. — 
Siclce offence, cause of offense that occasions sickness. — Cliarme, adjure. 
Charge is suggested as the correct reading. — In sort, in a certain way ; that is, 
not in every respect. — And talUe to yoii, etc. To you should be read as Vyou, 
in one syllable, and in the, as i''th\ also in one syllable. 

Giuing my self e a voluntary ~vpouJid 
He ere, in the tliigli » 

Plutarch says that Portia, to try whether she was proof against pain, gave herself 
a severe wound in the thigh, which brought on considerable fever. — All tlie 
clxarractery of my sad lUroives, all that is impressed on my brows. — 
Kercliiefe, contracted from Old Eng. coverchief, Old Fr. couvrechief, head-cover. 
As we are going, 
To wliom it must be done. 
There is an ellipsis here of " to those," to those to whom it must he done. 

Scene ii. Noi' lieavien, nor eartli, liaue beene at peace. The plural 
form of the verb points to a plurality in the thought. It is as if it had been said, 
" Both heaven and earth have been at war." For the first nor instead of neither, 
see above on or — or. — Mui-tlier , the old spelling of murder ; from A.-S. myrthrian, 
from «7ort/j, death. Cf. Lat. mort. But Chaucer writes wiorrfre. — Do present 
sacrifice. Z)o was formerly used in a wider sense than now ; as "The kyngdom 
of God shall bo taken fro you and schal he goven to a folk doing fruytis of it." 
IFyc. Matthew xxi. 43. " Thei haue done hir vnderstonde." They have made her 
understand. Goiver. — Successe, result. Similar use of the word occurs in Othello, 
Act III. iii. 

" My speech should fall into such vile success 
As my thoughts aim not at." 

Ceremonies, superstitious omens. — Riglit forme of warre, regular array 
of battle. — Di'izel'd, let fall in drops. Dim. or freq. from A.-S. rfreas, a fall, or 
falling. Cf. whittle, from hwita, a sharpener, and htvaet, sharp ; trickle, from track; 
frizzle from friz. — Hurtled, clashed. Cf. under Grimm's Law ; A.-S. hyrt, a 
hurt, with Gr. Kporeoi and Kpoucj, to strike. i?i«rtZe should, etymologically, mean 
strike frequently. — Gliosts did slirieke and squeale about the streets. 
So in Hamlet, I. i. : — 

" The sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets." 

The ed. of 1623 has do shrieke. For shriek cf. screech, scream, cry (squall a,nAwaul). 
Dan. xkrige, to cry, Gr. ypv. Chaucer has sliright, shrieked, 0. T. 15,368. — As to 
Csesar, as much as to Ceesar. — Haue you to stirre f ortli. The sign of 
the infinitive is usually omitted after have. — Tliey could not finde a lieart 
within the beast. Plutarch says : " It seems, from this instance, that fate is 
not so secret as it is inevitable. For we are told, there were strong signs and pres- 
ages of the death of Caesar. As to the lights in the heavens, the strange noises 
heard in various quarters by night, and the appearance of sohtary birds in the fo- 
rum, perhaps they deserve not our notice in so great an event as this. But some 
attention should be given to Strabo the philosopher. According to him, there were 



220 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

seen in the air men of fire encounteiing each other ; such a flame appeared to issue 
from the hand of a soldier's servant, that all the spectators thought it must be 
burnt, yet, when it was over, he found no harm ; and one of the victims which 
Ctesar offered, was found without a heart. The latter was certainlj' a most alarming 
prodigy ; for, according to the rules of nature, no creature can exist without a heart. 
What is still more extraordinary, many report that a certain soothsayer forewarned 
him of a great danger which threatened him on the Ides of March, and that when 
the day was come, as he was going to the Senate house, he called to the soothsayer, 
and said, laughing, " The Ides of March are come ; " to which he answered, softly, 
" Yes, but they are not gone." 

The evening before, he supped with Marcus Lepidus and signed, according to cus- 
tom, a number of letters as he sat at table. While he was so employed, there arose 
a question, "What kind of death was the best?" and Cwsar, answering before 
them all, cried out, " A sudden one." The same night, as he was in bed with his 
wife, the doors and windows of the room flew open at once. Disturbed both \Yith 
the noi.se and the light, he observed, by moonshine, Calpurnia in a deep sleep, utter- 
ing broken words and inarticulate groans. She dreamed that she was weeping over 
him, as she held him murdered in her arms. Others say, she dreamed that the pin- 
nacle was fallen, which, as Livy tells us, the Senate had ordered to be erected upon 
Csesar'.s house, by way of ornament and distinction, and that it was the fall of it 
which she lamented and wept for. Be that as it may, next morning she conjured 
Coesar not to go out that day, if he could possibly avoid it, but to adjourn the Sen- 
ate ; and if he paid no regard to her dreams, to have recourse to some other species 
of divination or to sacrifices for information as to his fate. This gave him some sus- 
picion and alarm ; for he had never known before in Calpurnia anything of the 
weakness or superstition of her sex, though she was now so much affected." — Do 
this in slianie of cowardice, in shaming cowardice; that is, for the pur- 
po.se of shaming cowardice. The preposition in is thus used to express purpose, as 
is the participle. — Csesar slioulcl toe. Should is used insteiid of tvould, as im- 
porting something of necessity in the consequence. Shall and imll, as should and 
ivould, are coufounded in some provincial usages. But that Shakespeare was famil- 
iar with the distinction which is now recognized in good use is apparent from his 
Coriolanus, III. i. : — 

" Shall remain I 
Hear you this Triton of the minnows ? Mark you 
His absolute shall ?" 

Immediately after, in " CiBsar shall go forth," the same force is to be seen. Will 
here would be weak. 

Danger knowes full well 

Tliat Csesar is more dangerovis then he. 

A bold but most happy hyperbole. — "We are two lyons. The early editions have 
heare. — Afear'd. This is the passive participle from the A.-S. afaeran, to make to 
fear, to frighten, from the intransitive verb /aeran, to fear, and the causative particle 
a; as laenian, to be lean ; a-laenimi, to make leau. — Fortunate. In the active 
sense, assuring fortune.— Apt to toe render'd, to be thrown back. — Pro- 
ceeding, advancement. — Liatole, subject. —Earely, early; A.-S. aerlice ; 
Wye. eerli; Chaucer, erly ; Gower, erely and erellche.—A. clocke, on clock, o^clock. 
The A.-S. prep, was written an and on, and also a. —That euery like is not 
the same, everything like or similar is not the same; partial is not total 
sameness. The .allusion is to Csesar's expression, likp friends. Brutus says he 
yearns to think that they who are like friends in tasting wine and going together 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 221 

with Casar are not really friends. — Barnes, yearns ; A.-S. earnian, to earn, to 
labor for, pronounced yarn ian. 

Scene hi. Security giu.es Avay, prepares or opens the way, leads. — 
Sutoi', petitioner. Tlie i in suhor is orthograpliic. The stem sii- is from Lat. 
sequ i, Old Fr. seure and sieure. 

Scene iv. Get tliee gone. Get may on plausible grounds be reckoned an 
auxiliary, like let. -Cf. Dan. faar, as faar skrevet, get (shall have) written. — Con- 
stancie, firmness. — Keeije counsell, keep what has been confided in counsel- 
ing. — Sickly, somewhat sick; adj. modifying predicate relatively to subject ab- 
stractly. See " Art of Compositou,'' § 199.— Bussling, busthng, a phonetic spell- 
ing. — Sooth, truth, truly. — !Bin, phonetic spelling of been. 

Act III. SCENE I. riourisli, sound of trumpets. — Ore-read, read oyer 

— He is aclclrest, he is prepared. So K. Henry, IV. iv. : " Our navy is addrest." 

— Couclxings, corrected reading oi croucliings. — Xiane, corrected text, law. — 
Fond, silly, foolish. A common use of the word formerly. See n. F. Q., I. ix. 39. 

— Swell is used as correlative with that, as before, that with as, I. ii. — Kcliell 
blood, base blood, or blood that is not true to Ciesar himself. The meaning of the 
whole passage is : Be not so fooUsh as to think that Caesar lias a disposition so faith- 
less to himself as to be moved away from its proper condition by considerations that 
fools are moved by. — Doest. See n. I. i. — Kepealing, recall, from the French 
rappcler, to recall. So repeale, a little farther on. — Hi.s, the old neuter possessive. 

— AiHJreliensiue, intelligent. — Holds on Iiis ranke, maintains his posi- 
tion. — Vnsliak'd of motion, unshaken by any motion. — Ambitions 
debt is paid, the debt ambition owes. 

Tlie Pulpit. The pulpit here intended was that in the Forum, which was an 
elevated platform, called Ro.'itra, from the beaks of ships taken as trophies in a na- 
val engagement. It was vised by orators in addressing the people. The stage in 
theaters, back of the orchestra, and used by the actors, was also called the pulpit. — 
Abide tliis deetle, be responsible for this deed. — Pompeyes basis, base of 
Pompey's statue, whei-e the assassination took place. Although Shakespeare every- 
where represents the transaction as taking place at the Capitol, it really occurred in 
Pompey's theater. — i.ye along, corrected reading, lies n/ojifi-. — Honest, hon- 
orable, the old sense. — Be resolii'd, be released from his doubts. So also, fur- 
ther on, III. ii., " to be resolved if Brutus so unkindly knocked or no." — So 
please Iiim come, if it please him to come. See I. ii. The old form of the 
English infinitive had no preposition to with it ; and the inf. is the proper subject 
of X'lease, — if come please him. — To friend, for friend. 
My misgiuing still 
Falles shrewdly to tlie purpose, 
My misgiving tends sagaciously to its object — has a wise reference to its aim. — 
Must be let blood ; a passive form, as it were, of to let bloori. — I do be- 
seecli yee. Ye was, as it is now, the nominative of the second person plural 
pronoun. It came into use as an objective with the general obliteration of in- 
flections in the language consequent on the invasion and occupation of England 
by the Danes. For the vulgar yer for you, cf. Dan. objective ca-sa jer (yer). — Liue 
a thousand yeeres, if I live, etc. — As fire driues out fire. This im- 
age is elsewhere found in Shakespeare; as Rom. and Jul., I. ii. : "One fire 
burns out another's burning.'' So Cor., IV. vii. : " One fire burns out one fire; " 
and Two Gentlemen of Verona, II. iv. : " Even as one heat another heat ex- 
pels." — In strength of malice. The text is supposed to be corrupt hero. 
Mr. Collier proposed to read "strength of welcome.'''' — liast, not least- Cf. 
Spenser's " Colin Clouts com Homeagaine," ver. 4'i4 : " And there though last not 
least is action." — Greeue thee deerer then thy death. Dearer, as here 



222 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

■used, is supposed to be derived from the A.-S. derian, to harm, to injure, and here 
means, therefore, foon^P. It is now obsolete in this sense. — Bay'cl, brouglit to 
a bay ; that is, brought to the condition in which the hart is when made to stand 
and face its pursuers. Baij means origiually to bark; then particularly to bark 
when pursuit is oyer, and the dogs fear to attack, and stand o£F and bark. Instances 
in abundance in our old writers show this use of the word. Thus in Lord Berners' 
translation of Froissart (1523-1525), we find : " The dogge would bays." So Kabyan 
(died 1512) speaks of bringing a hart " to a bay ; " and then speaks of the dogs 
standing and " baying." In like manner, Drayton : " He like a lion keeps them all 
at bay." Johnson: "As mongrels bay the lion in a cage." The image seems to 
have been suggested by Plutarch, who says: " Whatever way he turned, he saw 
nothing but steel gleaming in his face, and met nothing but wounds. Like some 
savage beast attacked by the hunlers, he found every hand hfted against him." — 
Sigii'd in tliy spoyle, marked in that which is taken violently from thee. — 
Lietliee, probable mispi-int for letke. Mr. Steevens says : " Lethe is used by many 
of the old translators of novels for death." He gives, however, no unequivocal in- 
stance. Lethe is not an unnatural derivation from the Latin ie«/iM)?i, death. It is 
here a metonomy of the cause for the effect. — Pi-ick'd, a figure taken from 
marking persons by a puncture a.griinst their names. — Or else were tliis a 
sauage spectacle. The imperfect plural used for the conditional mood in the 
singular. — Good, regax'd, what may be well or favorably regarded. Regard is 
used in a passive instead of its usual active sense. — Produce liis body to 
the market place, conduct forth his body, etc. — Order, ordered procedure. — 
riinerall, funeral ceremony. — I ltiio-\v not wliat may fall, I am in doubt 
what may result from this. — Tide of times, the regular flow of seasons. — 
Quartered with. With is here, as frequently elsewhere, equivalent to by. It is 
now less used iu connection with instrumentality. — Ate, the Grecian goddess 
Revenge or Cur.se. The fi-equent naming of this Grecian deity suggests a greater 
familiarity with Greek literature on the part of Shakespeare than is generally sup- 
posed. — Dogges of "Warre. 

" And, at his heels, 
Leashed in, like hounds, should Famine, Sword, and Fire 
Crouch for employment."— /i/kj; Henry V. Chorus, Act I. 

Malone, in commenting on this passage, cites the following from Hall's Chronicle : 
"The Goddess of war, called Bellona, . . . hath these three handmaids ever of 
nece.ssity attending ou her ; Blood, Fire, and i^amine." — Octauiiis Csesar. He 
was the son of Caius Octavius and Julia, sister of C. Julius Caisar. On his adoption 
by his uncle, as was customary among the Romans, he assumed the first names of 
his adoptive father, Caius Julius Caesar, and the other or gentile name, Octavius, he 
changed to Octavianus. He was however generally called Octavius in history. — 
From, corrected reading, /or. — The %vhich. It was once not uncommon to 
write the definite article the before the relative %vhich, as was usual in A.-S. 

Scene ii. Pubiike reasons, rea.sons of a public nature, as opposed to per- 
sonal grounds, such as resentment, envy, or the like. — Rendred, here as below, 
should, to meet the demands of the rhythm, be regarded as trisyllabic. — Is as- 
cended, belongs with such forms as is become, is gone, is escaped, is fled, is dead. 
— Censwre, judge. So 2 Part Hen. VI., I. iii. : — 

" Madam, the King is old enough himself 
To give his censure." 

Also in Hamlet, I. iii. : — 

" Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment." 

Had you rather. Sec n. Versions 7 ; also J. C., I. iii. — The question of 



I 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 223 

llis deatli, the matter of his death, so far as calling for investigation. — Of- 
fences enf orc'tl, pressed unduly. — Do grace to Ctesars corpes, and 
grace Ills speecli- Grace is here used in the sense of courtesy or honor — a 
more general sense than the word now bears. — Kelioldiiig, beholden, under 
obligation. Tills form of the word was onee very common. It is in all probability, 
but the common use of the active part, in a reflexive sense — beholding myself. 
The prefix be, in A.-S. was like ge, intensive, and the two are often interchanged. Cf. 
A.-S. behealdan and gekeaklayi, to observe, to consider. Sometimes one prefix is used, 
sometimes the other ; sometimes both with the same meaning, as is often and natu- 
rally the case with modifications. — Greeuoiis, Old Fr. grevous, Lat. gravis. The 
spelling with ? was not established till later ; yet we find griefful in Spenser, E. Q., VI. 
viii. 9. — "Will deere abide it. See n. on dearer, sc. i. — Maisters, Old Fr. 
maistre, Lat. magister. — Napkins, formerly meaning handkerchief, as here. 
In Othello, III. iii., napkin is used to denote the same thing as kandkerchief. The 
■word is dim. of nappe, Fr. from Lat. mappa,a, cloth, a napkin. — He ouercame 
tlie Neriiy. The Nervii were a warlike tribe, who occupied the greater part of 
modern Flanders and Ilainault. They attacked C^sar unexpectedly with a force 
of sixty thousand. At the first shock, they routed his cavalry. They succeeded, 
also, in surrounding two legions and slaying all the oiScers. Had not Csesar by 
rushing himself into the thickest of the fight inspired by his own audacity a desper- 
ate valor in his troops, not a Roman would have escaped. As it was, the Nervians 
fought most obstinately. There were saved of their sixty thousand only five hun- 
dred ; and out of four hundred of their senators only three escaped. See Plutarch, 
J. Coesar, § 23. — To Ibe resolii'd. See note, sc. i. — Dint, force ; A.-S. 
dynt, a blow. — Griefs, grievances. — "Wit, in first ed. wnY. — Dnm, dumb ; 
A.-S. dumb. Cf. Dan. dum ; A.-S. dMOTfiy.?, dumbness ; dome and domme. Tyndale 
and Geneva Versions, note 9. — Seiienty fine dracfemaes. Appian says Coesar 
left to each man then in the city five and seventy Attic drachmas ; Suetonius says 
three hundred sesterces. The value is thirteen or fourteen dollars of our money. 
Plutarch does not in his life of Csesar mention the amount, nor speak of the gardens 
given to the people, as do both Appian and Suetonius. — He comes vpon a 
wisli, he comes upon my mere wish. — Cinna. Plutarch says : " One Cinna, a 
friend of Csesar-s, dreamed the night preceding that Csesar invited him to supper and 
on his refusing to go, caught him by the hand and drew him along in spite of his 
resistance ; and that on the next day, on his coming up to attend the funeral rites, 
one of the populace asked ' who that was ? ' and having learned his name told it 
his next neighbor. A report immediately spread through the whole company that it 
was one of Cresar's murderers ; and, indeed, one of the conspirators was named 
Cinna. The multitude, taking this for the man, fell upon him and tore him to 
pieces upon the spot." — Charge, burden, oppress— Wlietlier, whither. — 
You ■were best, it were best for you. — Yoii'l beare me a bang for tliat, 
you'll suffer a bang for that on my account. Or if an old use of me in the sense 
of self, as noticed in n. I. ii., be accepted as having crept into colloquial discourse 
and been preserved in some familiar phrases, the meaning will be : You yourself 
shall bear a bang. — Pliicke but liis name out. The meaning is: If his 
heart is right and only his name is wrong, do nothing but pluck the name out of 
his heart ; pluck away all that expresses Cinna — his body, from the heart and let 
him go. 

Act IY. scene I. The conference between Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
actually took place, according to Plutarch, on a small island in the Khine, and 
lasted three days. — Are pricked. See note III. i. 

Vpon condition Publius shall not liue 
"Who is your sisters sonnc, Marke Antony. 
Antony's uncle, the brother of his mother, was the man who was thus placed on the 



224 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIOlJS. 

list of the proscribed. His name was Lucius Csesar. — Vnmeritaljle, used here in 
an active sense, undeserving. — In some taste, in some slight degree. — Stal'de, 
staled, treated as insipid, worthless. — Listen great tilings. Listen formerly 
"was followed by a passive object. Thus Spenser : " Which she long listening." P. 
Q., IV. viii. — Surest ans-vrered, surest met. ^ Bayed. See note III. i. 

Scene ii. In liis owne cliange, by a change in himself. — Kegard, 
that which merits regard. 

A word tucillius 
How Ue receiu'd you : let me be resolu'd. 

Such is the punctuation in the first edition. — Instances, approaches. — Hot at 
Iiaud, mettlesome, when simply led or urged by reins in hand. — Tall, let fall. 
Shakespeare frequently uses this word as a causative or factitive. Thus, Com. of Er- 
rors, II. ii. : " As easy mayst i\iO\x fall a drop of water in the breaking gulf;" also, 
Midsummer Night-s Dream, V. i. : " And as she fled, her mantle she did /aK," and 
Othello IV. i. : " Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile." — Sardis, a city in 
Lydia in Asia Minor. Be content, be moderate; contain yourself. — I,iicius. 
The first edition had Lucilius here and Lucius the next line but one below. 

Scene hi. On liis side, on his behalf. The second folio edition is followed in 
these two verses ; the first being evidently wrong. — Sliglited off, slighted of, that 
is, made a slighted thing of; a somewhat stronger expression than slighted alone. 
Of and off are in origin the same word. It was sjxilled, both as prep, and as adv., 
in both ways, of and. off. The progress of the language, as in so many other like 
cases, has set apart different spellings for the different uses. We have examples of the 
old spelling with the doubled letter at the end of a word being continued, when the 
word stands at the end of a sentence after it had been changed elsewhere. Thus be- 
low, go too for go to. — His comment, its criticism, a criticism to which it might 
be subject. His is old neut. possessive. — Ai-e mucli condemn' d, are much 
blamed, or charged. — To sell and mart. These verbs have the same grammatical 
regimen as to have , being objects of condemned. The construction is like said to have, 
to sell, etc. — Mart, a contraction of market. Cf. Dan. marked, Ger. markt ; Old Ger. 
marcat ; Lat. mercatus. — Palme, object of have understood. — Hide his liead. 
His, the old genitive of the neuter pronoun referring here to chastisement. — Bru- 
tus, baite not me. If bait be the correct reading, there is a play upon the previous 
word &02/. It is proposed by critics to read here, also, iay. But halt is better. It 
means to assail as a beast of chase by baying dogs ; make me not a bayed animal. 
Besides, there is the play of words as already noted. Cf. Winter's Tale, III. ii. : 
" Who late hath beat her husband and now baits me." — I aiYi a soiildier, I. 
This last I may be the first per. pron. or the interjection aye. — Haue mind vpon 
your liealtli, have regard to your safety. — Sliglit man, weak man, not to 
be regarded. — Bouge, budge. Cf. T?r. hovger, to stir. — Observe you, watch 
and wait on your motions. — To wring, infin. object of had. — Indirection, 
any crooked, that is, wrong procedure. — Kascall, base, despicable; A.-S. rascal, 
a scaly or worthless deer, from ra, a doe, and scale, a shell, a scale. — Dasli liini 
to peeces. Da.'s/i is the infin. and object of rearfy. — A-tveary. Prof. Gibbs, 
in his learned work on Teutonic Etymology, has carefully analyzed the uses of a as 
a prefix. (I.) As equivalent to co or con. (1.) To yavhs, m abide, affright, arise, 
arouse, awake. Its force here seems to be intensive or causative. (2.) To past par- 
ticiples, as adrift, afloat, aghast, agonc, etc. (3.) To adjectives, as afoid, ahungry, 
aweary. Here the force is the same as before verbs. (II.) For the A.-S. preposition 
a»i or Oft, on, in ; as across, abreast. (III.) For the indefinite article, as a-piece. 
(tV.) For Latin ad, Fr. d, as abase, adieu. (V.) For Latin a or ab, as avert. (VI.) 
For Latin e or ex through the French, as ammd. (VII.) For the Greek privative, 
as atheist, anarchy. — Con'd. ConHPci is past part, of A.-S. ci«iMi'aH, to prove, to 
try, search into. — Koatc, wheel, hence routine, endless repetition ; Lat. rota. — 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 225 

Deerer, more previous. — Pluto, PliUus. — If tliat tHou bec'st- We have 
here the conjunction that after the hypothetical particle if. This was more common 
formerly. Beest is for the second pers. sing. pres. indie, bist. Cf. Milton, P. L., I. i 
" If thou beest he." — y^^ thou. The th was represented by a character resembling 
they. — Dislionor shall 1)8 livim our, your insult shall be sport to me. — ■ 
Enter a Poet. Plutarch relates that Marcus Favonius forced him.self into the 
tent. As soon as he entered, he cried out in the words of Nestor, in the First Booli 
of the Iliad, as translated by North : — 

" My Lords, I pray you hearken both to me ; 
For I have seen more years than such ye three." 

Vildely, vilely. — ligging, jig-making, that i.<?, making low poetry. Thus 
Malone renders "-jigging fools," silly poets. — Companion, fellow, used con- 
temptuously. — Impatient of my absence, and. greefe. The construction 
is : The sickness was from being impatient of my absence and from grief, etc. This 
passage just indicates a depth and strength of emotion to which the awakened im- 
agination sees no limit. — Tydings. This word, now used only with a plural ter- 
mination, but formerly used in the singular, is derived from the A.-S. verb, tid-an 
to happen. It is sometimes used with a plural adjective or verb, as afterwards, V. 
iv. , these tidings. — Distract, distracted ; distraught is,still another form once in 
Tise. F. Q., I. ix. 38. — Tenure, tenor. — Me tliinlces, now written as one word. 
It is compounded of the old dative me and the impersonal verb thinks. In the 
earlier stages of the language, it was not necessary with an impersonal verb. — Witli 
meditating, etc, by meditating that she must die at one time or another. — In 
art, so far as training is concerned ; in instructed reason. It is opposed to nature 
in the next verse. — To our worlce aliue, to our living work. — Niggard, 
treat sparingly. — Knaue. This word originally meant simply ioy, like the German 
knabe. — Betime.s, compound of old prep, be or bi, and times. 

Act V. SCENE l. Battailes, forces, lines of battle. Just below we find 
battell used in the sense of conflict, and further on battaile again in the sense of line 
of battle. It would seem that it was designed by the spelling to meet the distinction 
of meanings. — Warne. The word is here used in a more general sense, as equiva- 
lent to suinmon. — I am in tlieir bosomes, I know their secret thoughts. — 
FearefuU brauery, timid show of bravery. — Tliinking by tliis face, 
thinking by this show. — I Avill do so, I will by greater energy in assault cross 
you — a play upon the word cross. — Signe, signal. — Malta forth, move for- 
ward; that is, for the parley with the opposing generals. 

The posture of your blowes are yet vnJknowne. Certainly an ungram- 
matical expression, if the text is correct. The meaning is : The place of your blows 
is yet unknown. — Teethes. The later editions read teeth. — The proof e of it, 
the determination of the question by the sword. — Straine, race, family. So 
Spenser, F. Q., IV. viii. 33: "Sprung of the ancient stock of princes' straine." 
Also, V. ix. 32 : — 

" And Sacred Reverence yborne of heavenly strene." 

And Beaumont and Fletcher, " Custom of the Country," Act I. sc. i : — 

" Not knowing from what place 
Or honorable strain of blood he is sprung." 

Former ensigne, more advanced ensign. — Rests, sing, verb, with plural sub- 
ject, as above. — Preuent the term of life, anticipate the end of life. — To 
stay the prouidence, to await the forecast appointment. — Some. It is 
suggested that we should read t/iose. — Thoro'W, through. See n. C. T. 2. 

Scene II. Bills, billets or notes. " In the mean time Brutus, that led the right 
wing, sent little bills to the colonels," etc. North's Plutarch. 
15 



226 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Scene in. Ensigne, standard-bearer. — Is run. See n. on is ascended, III. 
ii. — Some llglit, some alight. — Taiie, ta'en for taken. — Sailing of thy life. 

We may, in tlie grammatical analysis of this phrase, take saving to be a noun and 
understand at the saving, etc. But the pres. i^art. in looser expression is sometimes 
followed by the prep, of, denoting the relation of object to the action expressed by 
the part. — Hilts, plu. of hilt : A.-S. hill, a handle. — Change, exchange of de- 
feat on one side for defeat on the other — in different parts of the general battle. — 
To niglit, to the darkness of night. — Mistrust, misappreliension ; on mistake 
of the result of my movement. — Wliere, whether, as before. See I. i. — Moi 
more. See II. i. — Tharsus, misprint for Thassos, an island near the shore of 
Thrace, a short distance from Philippi. — Funerals. Cf.La.t.funera; and Mod. 
Eug. nuptials. — Three a clocke. See n. I. li. 

Scene iv. Or aliue or dead. See n. MandeTille, 13. 

Scene v. Sit tliee doivn. Th/'c may be taken-as specifying object after the 
intrans. verb, or it may be supposed with some plausibility to be used for the noun 
«/jOM and subject of .sji ; a use introduced at the era of the language when inflec- 
tional distinctions were disregarded. Cf. fare thee well ; hark 'ee for hark thee. — 
Pretliee, prithee, for pray thee. — Smatcli, smack. — And common good. 
Beceived reading, of common, good. — Field, the forces in the field. — Part tlie 
glories, apportion the glories. 



8. JOHN MILTON, 1608-1674. 

John Milton was born in London, December 9, 1608, and died there November 8, 
1674. He was trained under a Puritan discipline, and with the best educational advan- 
tages. He was especially instructed in the science and art of music. At 16 he entered 
Christ's College, Cambridge. After taking his degrees in 1632, he spent five years 
" in a ceaseless round of study and reading," remarking in those memorable words : 
" He cared not how late he came into life, only that he came fit.'''' In this period he 
■wrote his " Sonnet to the Nightingale," " L'AUegro," " II Penseroso," the masques 
of " Arcades " and " Comus," and the elegy of " Lycidas." In 1638 he made his 
tour on the continent, returning after an absence of fifteen months. He now took 
up his residence in London, and devoted himself to studying and to teaching his two 
nephews and a few others, sons of intimate friends. In 1641 he entered into the 
political controversies of the times, and wrote in masterpieces of prose his defenses 
of civil and religious liberty. He married in 1643, Mary, eldest daughter of Mr. 
Richard Powell, of Forest Hill in Oxfordshire. After a month's residence with him 
in London, she left him and went back to her father's house. A reconciliation was 
effected, and she returned to London in 1645. After the execution of King Charles, 
January 30, 1649, he -was offered the position of foreign secretary under the Common- 
■wealth. After the Restoration, he was obliged to live for a time in concealment. His 
•wife having died in 1652 or 1653, he married a second time in 1656 ; but his wife 
lived but fifteen months ; and after eight years he married liis third wife. His sight 
had been failing for several years, till before 1653 he became completely bUnd. The 
" Paradise Lost," the great ambition as the gi'eat achievement of his life, was com- 
pleted, and the "Paradise Regained" commenced at Chalfont, whither he had 
retired from the plague in London in 1665. His " Samson Agonistes " was published 
with the " Paradise Regained," in 1671. 

The " Samson Agonistes " is selected as on the whole best suited to the wants of a 
Btudent of English Literature. It is from the first complete edition of Milton's 
■works by Bishop Newton in 1749, but printed directly from the excellent reprint of 
that edition " by John Baskerville for J. & R. Tonsou, in London, 1758." Basker- 
ville, in his preface, claims to have " followed with exactness the Text of Dr. Neiv- 
ton," and speaks of " the extraordinary care and expense " bestowed upon his re- 



JOHN MILTON. 227 

prints. The best style of punctuation, capitalizing, and spelling of the middle of 
the eighteenth ceutury may accordingly be expected in this reprint. The selection 
itself, while it presents a complete product of the poet's genius, and is ivorthy to 
stand side by side with the immortal " Paradise Lost," bearing the characteristics 
of that great work,"has the further consideration in its favor, that, being strictly mod- 
eled after the Gi-ecian drama, it affords the opportunity to the student of comparing 
the Classical with the Romantic type of dramatic art, and of obtaining distinct no- 
tions of their respective peculiarities. If no other reason, the length of the '■ Para- 
dise Lost " would forbid its insertion. But no student will fail, in his advancing 
course, to study this towering monument of English literary art, of which the great 
Scotch critic. Professor Wilson, has thus pronounced : " To this conclusion must we 
come at last, that in the English language there is but one Great Poem. What ! 
Not Lear, Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth ? Paradise Lost." Should a class be able to 
command several hours for reading together, the following selections will guide them 
to some notion of the design and conduct of this poem, its characteristic qualities, 
and also to the finest passages in it. Book I. vv. 1 to 375, the opening of the poem ; 
vv. 615 to 798, the as.sembly of the fallen spirits in Pandemonium ; Book II. the 
council, VT. 1 to 505 ; Satan's flight, 629 to 726 ; 871 to 1055 ; Book III. 1 to 55, 
Apostrophe to Light ; Book IV. 32 to 113, Satan's soliloqu}- ; 598 to 735, the Evening 
Hymn ; 781 to 1015, Satan's encounter with the angelic guards ; Book V. 1 to 210, 
the Morning Hymn ; Book XI. 191 to 292, the sentence of expulsion from Paradise 
and Eve's Lament ; Book XII. 466 to 649, Adam's joy over the promise of Redemp- 
tion, and the departure from Paradise. Book VI. contains Raphael's narration to 
Adam of the battle of Satan and his angels, and their defeat and punishment. 
Verses 609 to 627 are fine instances of sarcasm and play on words. Booll IX. 
recounts the temptation and the fall. 

SAMSON AGONISTES, 

A DRAMATIC POEM. 

The Author JOHN MiLTON. 

Aristot. Poet. Chap. 6. 

Tragoedia mimesis jyraxeos Spondaiaj^ etc. 

Tragosdia est imitatio actionis serifE, etc, per misericordiam et metum 

perficions talium affectuum lusfrationem. 

Of that sort nf Dramatic Poem which is.caWd Tra.gedy. 
Tragedy, as it was anciently compos'd, hath been ever held the gravest, 
moralest, and most profitable of all other poems : therefore said by Aristotle to be 
of power by raising pity and fear, or terror, to purge the mind of those and such 
like passions, that is, to temper and reduce them to just measure with a kind of 
delight, stirr'd up by reading or seeing those passions well imitated. Nor is Nature 
wanting in her own effects to make good his assertion : for so in physic, things of 
melancholic hue and quality are us'd against melancholy, sour against sour, salt to 
remove salt humors. Hence philosophers and other gravest writers, as Cicero, 
Plutarch and others, frequently cite out of tragic poets, both to adorn and illustrate 
their discourse. The Apostle Paul himself thought it not unworthy to insert a 
verse of Euripides into the text of Holy Scripture, 1 Cor. XV. 33, and Par.-eus com- 
menting on the Revelation, divides the whole book as a tragedy, into acts dis- 
tinguish'd each by a chorus of heavenly harpings and soug between. Heretofore 
men in highest dignity have labor'd not a little to be thought able to compose a 
tragedy. Of that honor Dionysius the elder was no less ambitious, than before of 
his attaining to the tyranny. Augustus Caesar also had begun his Ajax, but unable 



228 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

to please his own judgment with what he had begun, left it unfinish'd. Seneca the 
philosopher is by some thought the author of those tragedies (at least the best of 
them) that go under that name. Gregory Nazianzen, a Father of the Church, 
thought it not unbeseeming the sanctity of his person to write a tragedy, which is 
intitled Christ suffering. This is meution"d to viudicate tragedy from the small 
esteem, or rather infamy, which in the account of many it undergoes at this day 
with other common interludes ; hap'ning through the poets error of intermixing 
comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity; or introducing trivial and vulgar per- 
sons, which by all judicious hath been covmted absurd; and brought in without 
discretion, corruptly to gratify the people. And though ancient tragedy use no 
prologue, yet using sometimes, in case of self-defense or explanation, that which 
Martial calls an epistle ; iu behalf of this tragedy coming forth after the ancient 
manner, much different from what among us passes for best, thus much before- 
hand may be epistl'd ; that chorus is here introduc'd after the Greek manner, not 
ancient only but modern, and still in use among the Italians. In the modeling 
thei'efore of this poem, with good reason, the Ancients and Italians are rather 
foUow'd, as of much more authority and fame. The measure of verse us'd in the 
chorus is of all sorts, call'd by the Greeks Monostrophic, or rather Apolelymenon, 
without regard had to Strophe, .\ntistrophe, or Epod, which were a kind of stanza's 
fram'd only for the music, then us'd with the chorus that sung ; not essential to the 
poem, and therefore not material ; or being divided iuto stanza's or pauses, they 
may be call'd Allreostropha. Division into act and scene referring chiefly to the 
stage (to which this work never was intended) is here omitted. 

It suffices if the whole drama be found i]ot produc'd beyond the fifth act. Of the 
stile and uniformity, and that commonly call'd the plot, whether intricate or ex- 
plicit, which is nothing indeed but such ceconomy, or disposition of the fable as 
may stand best with verisimilitude and decorum ; they only will best judge who are 
not unacquainted with AEschynis, Sophocles, and Euripides, the three tragic poets 
unequal'd yet by any, and the best rule to all who cndevor to write tragedy. The 
circumscription of time, wherein the whole drama begins and ends, is according to 
ancient rule, and best example, within the space of twenty four hours. 

THE AKGUMENT. 

Samson made captive, blind, and now in the prison at Gaza, there to labor as in a 
common work-house, on a festival day, in the general cessation from labor, comes 
forth into the open air, to a place nigh, somewhat retir'd, there to sit a while 
and bemoan his condition. Where he happens at length to be visited by cer- 
tain friends and equals of his tribe, which make the Chorus, who seek to com- 
fort him what they can ; then by his old father Manoah, who endevors the like, 
and withal tells him his purpose to procure his liberty by ransome ; lastly, that 
this feast was proclam'd by the Philistines as a day of thanksgiving for their 
■ deliverance from the hands of Samson, which yet more troubles him. Manoah 
then departs to prosecute his endevor with the Philistian lords for Samson's 
redemption ; who in the mean while is visited by other persons ; and lastly by 
a public officer to require his coming to the feast before the lords and people, to 
play or show his strength in their presence ; he at first refu.5es, dismissing the 
public officer with absolute denial to come ; at length persuaded inwardly 
that this was from God, he yields to go along with him, who came now the 
second time with great threatenings to fetch him : the Chorus yet remaining on 
the place, Manoah returns full of joyful hope, to procure ere long his son's de- 
liverance : in the midst of which discourse an Hebrew comes in haste, con- 
fusedly at first, and afterward more distinctly relating the catastrophe, what 
Samson had done to the Philistines, and by accident to himself ; wherewith the 
tragedy ends. 



JOHN MILTON. 229 

THE PERSONS. 

Samson. IIarapha of Gath. 

Manoah, the Father of Samson. Public Officer. 
DAIilLA, his Wife. Messenger. 

Chorus of Danites. 
The Scene before the prison in Gaza. 

SAMSON AGONISTES. 

Sarns. A little onward lend thy guiding hand 
To these dark steps, a little further on ; 
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade : 
There I am wont to sit, when any chance 
Relieves me from my task of servile toil, ^ 

Daily' in the common prison else enjoin'd me, 
Where I a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw 
The air imprison'd also, close and damp, 
Unwholesome draught : but here I feel amends. 
The breath of Heav'n fresh blowing, pure and sweet, ^^ 

With day-spring born ; here leave me to respire. 
This day a solemn feast the people hold 
To Dagon their sea-idol, and forbid 
Laborious works ; unwillingly this rest 

Their superstition yields me ; hence with leave ^^ 

Retiring from the popular noise, I seek 
This unfi-equented place to find some ease, 
Ease to the body some, none to the mind 
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm 
Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, ^ 

But rush upon me thronging, and present 
Times past, what once I was, and what am now. 
O wherefore was my birth from Heav'n foretold 
Twice by an Angel, who at last in sight 
Of both my parents all in flames ascended ^ 

From off the altar, where an offering burn'd, 
As In a fiery column charioting 
His god-like presence, and from some great act 
Or benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race ? 
Why was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd ^ 

As of a person separate to God, 
Deslgn'd for great exploits ; If I must die 
Betray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes jmt out, 
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze ; 



230 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

To grind in brazen fetters under task 

With this Heav'n-gifted strength ? O glorious strength 

Put to the labor of a beast, debas'd 

Lower than bondslave ! Promise was that I 

Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver ; 

Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him 

Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves, 

Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke : 

Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt 

Divine prediction ; what if all foretold 

Had been fulfiU'd but through mine own default, 

Whom have I to complain of but myself? 

Who this high gift of strength committed to me, 

In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me, 

Under the seal of silence could not keep, 

But weakly to a woman must reveal it, 

O'ercome with importunity and tears. 

O impotence of mind, in body strong ! 

But what is strength without a double share 

Of wisdom, vast, unwieldy, burdensome, 

Proudly secure, yet liable to fall 

By weakest subtleties, not made to rule, 

But to subserve where wisdom bears command ! 

God, when he gave me strength, to show withal 

How slight the gift was, hung it in my hair. 

But peace, I must not quarrel with the will 

Of highest dispensation, which herein 

Haply had ends above my reach to know ; 

Suffices that to me strength is my bane. 

And proves the source of all my miseries ; 

So many, and so huge, that each apart 

Would ask a life to wail, but chief of all, 

O loss of sight, of thee I most complain ! 

Blind among enemies, O worse than chains, 

Dungeon, or beggery, or decrepit age ! 

Light the prime work of God to me' is extinct. 

And all her various objects of dehght 

Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd, 

Inferior to the vilest now become 

Of man or worm ; the vilest here excel me, 

They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos'd 



JOHN MILTON. 231 

To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, 

Within doors, or without, still as a fool, 

In pow'r of others, never in my own ; 

Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. 

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, ** 

Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 

Without all hope of day ! 

O first created Beam, and thou great Word, 

Let there be light, and light was over all ; 

Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree ? ^ 

The sun to me is dark 

And silent as the moon. 

When she deserts the night 

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 

Since light so necessary is to life. 

And almost light itself, if it be true 

That light is in the soul. 

She all in every part ; why was the sight 

To such a tender ball as th'eye confin'd. 

So obvious and so easy to be quench'd ? 

And not as feeling through all parts diifus'd. 

That she might look at will through every pore ? 

Then had I not been thus exil'd from light. 

As in the land of darkness yet in light, 

To live a life half dead, a living death, ^*' 

And bury'd ; but O yet more miserable ! 

Myself, my sepulchre, a moving grave, 

Bury'd, yet not exempt 

By privilege of death and burial 

From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs, ■'"^ 

But made hereby obnoxious more 

To all the miseries of life, 

Life in captivity 

Among inhuman foes 

But who are these ? for with joint pace I hear "" 

The tread of many feet steering this way ; 

Perhaps my enemies who come to stare 

At my affliction, and perhaps t'insult. 

Their daily practice to afflict me more. 

Chor. This, this is he ; softly a while, "^ 

Let us not break in upon him ; 



232 EEFRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

O change beyond report, thought, or belief ! 

See how he lies at random, carelessly diffus'd, 

With languish'd head nnpropt, 

As one past hope, abandon'd, '^ 

And by himself given over ; 

In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds 

O'er-worn and soil'd ; 

Or do my eyes misrepresent ? Can this be he, 

That heroic, that renown'd, ^'^ 

Irresistible Samson ? whom unarm'd 

No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast could withstand ; 

Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid, 

Ran on imbattel'd armies clad in iron, 

And weaponless himself, ^^ 

Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery 

Of brazen shield and spear, the hammer'd cuirass, 

Chalybean temper'd steel, and frock of mail 

Adamantean proof; 

But safest he who stood aloof, ^^ 

When insupportably his foot advanc'd, 

In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools 

Spurn'd them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite 

Fled from his lion ramp, old warriors turn'd 

Their plated backs under his heel : ^* 

Or grov'ling soil'd their crested helmets in the dust. 

Then with what trivial weapon came to hand, 

The jaw of a dead ass, his swoi'd of bone, 

A thousand fore-skins fell, the flow'r of Palestine, 

In Ramath-lechi famous to this day. "^ 

Then by main force pull'd up, and on his shoulders bore 

The gates of Azza, post, and massy bar, 

Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old, 

No journey of a sabbath-day, and loaded so ; 

Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heaven. ^^ 

Which shall I first bewail, 

Thy bondage or lost sight, 

Prison within prison 

Inseparably dark ? 

Thou art become (O worst imprisonment !) '^^ 

The dungeon of thyself; thy soul 

(Which men enjoying siglit oft without cause complain) 



JOHN MILTON. 233 

Imprison'd now indeed, 

In real darkness of tlie body dwells, 

Shut up from outward light ^®' 

T'ineorporate with gloomy night ; 

For inward light alas 

Puts forth no visual beam. 

mirror of our fickle state. 

Since man on earth unparallel'd ! ^^ 

The rarer thy example stands. 

By how much from the top of wondrous glory, 

Strongest of mortal men. 

To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall'n. 

For liim I reckon not in high estate ^'^ 

Whom long descent of birth 

Or the sphere of fortune raises : 

But thee whose strength, wliile virtue was her mate, 

Might have subdued the earth, 

Universally crown'd with highest praises. ^''•'"' 

Sams. I hear the sound of words, their sense the air 
Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear. 

Chor, He speaks, let us draw nigh. Matchless in might, 
The glory late of Israel, now the grief; 
We come thy friends and neighbours not unknown ^^ 

From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale 
To visit or bewail thee, or if better. 
Counsel or consolation we may bring. 
Salve to thy sores ; apt words have pow'r to swage 
The tumors of a troubled mind, '"^ 

And are as balm to fester'd wounds. 

Sams. Your coming. Friends, revives me, for I learn 
Now of my own experience, not by talk. 
How counterfeit a coin they are who friends 
Bear in their superscription, (of the most '^ 

1 would be imderstood) in prosp'rous days 

They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head. 

Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O Friends, 

Plow many evils have inclos'd me round ; 

Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me, ^^* 

Blindness, for had I sight, confus'd with shame. 

How could I once look up, or heave the head, 

Who like a foolish pilot have shipwrack'd 



234 REPP>ESKNTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

My vessel trusted to me fi-om above, 
Gloriously rigg'd ; and for a word, a tear, 
Fool, have divulg'd the secret gift of God 
To a deceitful woman ? tell me, Fi-iends, 
Am I not sung and proverb'd for a fool 
In every street ? do they not say, how well 
Are come upon him his deserts ? yet why ? 
Immeasurable strength they might behold 
In me, of wisdom nothing more than mean ; 
This with the other should, at least, have pair'd, 
These two proportion'd ill drove me transverse. 
Chor. Tax not divine disposal ; wisest men 
Have err'd, and by bad women been deceiv'd ; 
And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise. 
Deject not then so overmuch thyself. 
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides ; 
Yet truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder 
Why thou shouldst wed Philistian women rather 
Than of thine own tribe fairer, or as fair. 
At least of thy own nation, and as noble. 

Smris. The firet I saw at Timna, and she pleas'd 
Me, not my parents, that I sought to wed 
The daughter of an infidel : they knew not 
That what I motion'd was of God ; I knew 
From intimate impulse, and therefore urg'd 
The marriage on ; that by occasion hence 
I might begin Israel's deliverance. 
The work to which I was divinely call'd. 
She proving false, the next I took to wife 
(O that I never had ! fond wish too late,) 
Was in the vale of Sorac, Dalila, 
That specious monster, my accomplish'd snare. 
I thought it lawful from my former act. 
And the same end ; still watching to oppress 
Israel's oppressors : of what now I suffer 
She was not the prime cause, but I myself, 
Who vanquish'd with a peal of words (O weakness !) 
Gave up my fort of silence to a woman. 

Cho?\ In seeking just occasion to provoke 
The Philistine, thy country's enemy. 
Thou never wast remiss, I bear thee witness : 
Yet Israel still serves with all his sons. 



JOHN MILTON". 235 

Sains. That fault I take not on me, but transfer 
On Israel's governors, and heads of tribes. 
Who seeing those groat acts, -which God had done 
Singly by me against their conquerors, 

Acknowledg'd not, or not at all consider'd ^*' 

Deliverance ofFer'd : I on th'other side 
Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds. 
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer ; 
But they persisted deaf, and would not seem 
To count them things worth notice, till at length ^ 

Their lords the Philistines with gather'd pow'rs 
Enter'd Jiulea seeking me, who then 
Safe to th.e rock of Etham was retir'd, 
Not flying, but fore-casting in what place 
To set upon them, what advantag'd best : ^^ 

Mean while the men of Judah, to prevent 
The harrass of their land, beset me round ; _ 
I willingly on some conditions came 
Into their hands, and they as gladly yield me 
To the uncircumcis'd a welcome prey, ^ 

Bound with two cords ; but cords to me were threds 
Touch'd with the flame : on their whole host I flew 
Unarm'd, and with a trivial weapon fell'd 
Their choicest youth ; they only liv'd who fled. 
Had Judah that day joined, or one whole tribe, ^^ 

They had by this possess'd the tow'rs of Gath, 
And lorded over them whom now they serve : 
But what more oft in nations grown corrupt, 
And by their vices brought to servitude, 
Than to love bondage more than liberty, ^'' 

Bondage with ease than strenuous liberty ; 
And to despise, or envy, or suspect 
Whom God hath of his special favor rais'd 
As their deliverer ; if he ought begin, 

How frequent to desert him, and at last ^^ 

To heap ingratitude on worthiest deeds ? 

Chor. Thy words to my remembrance bring 
How Succoth and the fort of Penuel 
Their oreat deliverer contenin'd, 
The matchless Gideon in pursuit 
Of Madian and her vanquish'd kings : 



236 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And how ingrateful Epliraim 
Had dealt with Jephtha, who by argument, 
Not worse than by his shield and spear, 
Defended Israel from tlie Ammonite, 
Had not his prowess quell'd their pride 
In that sore battel, when so many dy'd 
Without reprieve adjudg'd to death, 
For want of well pronouncing Shibboleth. 

Sams. Of such examples add me to the roll, 
Me easily indeed mine may neglect. 
But God's propos'd deliverance not so. 

Chor. Just are the ways of God, 
And justifiable to men ; 
Unless there be who think not God at all: 
If any be, they walk obscure ; 
For of such doctrin never was there school, 
But the heart of the fool. 
And no man therein doctor but himself. 

Yet more there be who doubt his ways not just, 
As to his own edicts found contradicting. 
Then give the reins to wand'ring thought, 
Regardless "of his glory's diminution ; 
Till by their own perplexities involv'd 
They ravel more, still less resolv'd. 
But never find self-satisfying solution. 

As if they would confine th'Interminable, 
And tie him to his own prescript, 
Who made our laws to bind us, not himself, 
And hath full right t'exempt 
Whom so it pleases him by choice 
From national obstriction, without taint 
Of sin, or legal debt ; 
For with his own laws he can best dispense. 

He would not else who never wanted means. 
Nor in respect of th'enemy just cause 
To set his people free. 
Have prompted this heroic Nazarite, 
Agains* his vow of strictest purity. 
To seek in marriage that fallacious bride, 
Unclean, unchaste. 

Down reason then, at least vain reasonings down, 



JOHN MILTON. 23T 

Though reason here aver 

That moral verdict quits her of unclean : 

Unchaste was subsequent, her stain not his. ^^ 

But see here conies thy reverend Sire 
With careful step, locks white as down, 
Old Manoah : advise 
Forthwith how thou oughtst to receive him. 

Sams. Ay me, another inward grief awak'd ^ 

With mention of that name renews th'assault. 

Man. Brethren and men of Dan, for such ye seem, 
Though in this uncouth place ; if old respect. 
As I suppose, tow'ards your once glory'd friend. 
My Son now captive, hither hath inform'd ^ 

Your younger feet, while mine cast back with age 
Came lagging after ; say if he be here. 

Chor. As signal now in low dejected state, 
As eai-st in high'est, behold him where he lies. 

Man. O miserable change ! is this the man, ^" 

That invincible Samson, far renown'd. 
The dread of Israel's foes, who with a strength 
Equivalent to Angels walk'd their streets, 
None offering fight ; who single combatant 
Duel'd their armies rank'd in proud array, ^ 

Himself an army, now unequal match 
To save himself against a coward arm'd 
At one spear's length. O ever failing trust 
In mortal strevigth ! and oh what not in man 
Deceivable and vain ? Nay what thing good '-^ 

Pray'd for, but often proves our woe, our bane r 
I pray'd for children, and thought barrenness 
In wedlock a reproach ; I gain'd a son. 
And such a son as all men hail'd me happy ; 
Who would be now a father in my stead ? '^^ 

O wherefore did God grant me my request, 
And as a blessing with such pomp adorn'd ? 
Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt 
Our earnest pray'rs, then giv'n with solemn hand 
As graces, draw a scorpion's tail behind ? 
For this did th'Angel twice descend ? for this 
Ordain'd thy nurture holy, as of a plant 
Select, and sacred, glorious for a while, 



238 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

The miracle of men ; then in an hour 
Insnar'd, assaulted, overcome, led bound, 
Thy foes derision, captive, poor and blind, 
Into a dungeon thrust, to work with slaves ? 
Alas methinks whom God hath chosen once 
To worthiest deeds, if he through frailty err, 
He should not so o'erwhelm, and as a thrall 
Subject him to so foul indignities, 
Be it but for honor's sake of former deeds. 

SaTUS. Appoint not heav'nly disposition, Father ; 
Nothing of all these evils hath befall'n me 
But justly ; I myself have brought them on. 
Sole author I, sole cause : if ought seem vile, 
As vile hath been my folly, who' have profan'd 
The mystery of God giv'n me under pledge 
Of vow, and have betray'd it to a woman, 
A Canaanite, my faithless enemy. 
This well I knew, nor was at all surpris'd, 
But warn'd by oft experience : did not she 
Of Timna first betray me, and reveal 
The secret wrested from me in her highth 
Of nuptial love profess'd, carrying it strait 
To them who had corrupted her, my spies, 
And rivals ? In this other was there found 
More faith, who also in her prime of love, 
Spousal embraces, vitiated with gold, 
Though offer'd only, by the sent conceiv'd 
Her spurious first-born, treason against me ? 
Thrice she assay'd with flattering pray'rs and sighs, 
And amorous reproaches, to win from me 
My capital secret, in what part my strength 
Lay stor'd, in what part summ'd, that she might know ; 
Thrice I deluded her, and turn'd to sport 
Her importunity, each time perceiving 
How openly, and with what impudence 
She purpos'd to betray me, and (which was worse 
Than undissembled hate) with what contempt 
She sought to make me traitor to myself ; 
Yet the fourth time, when must'ring all her wiles. 
With blandish'd parlies, feminine assaults, 
Tongue-batteries, she surceas'd not day nor night 



JOHN MILTON. 239 

To storm me over-watch'd, and weary'd out, *"*' 

At times when men seek most repose and rest, 

I yielded, and unlock'd her all my heart, 

Who with a grain of manhood well resolv'd 

Might easily have shook off' all her snares : 

But foul effeminacy held me yok'd ^^ 

Her bond-slave ; O Indignity, O blot 

To honor and religion ! servile mind 

Rewarded well with servile punishment ! 

The base degree to which I now am fall'n. 

These rags, this grinding is not yet so base ^^ 

As was my former servitude, ignoble, 

Unmanly, ignominious, infamous. 

True slavery, and that blindness worse than this, 

That saw not how degenerately I serv'd. 

Man. I cannot praise thy marriage choices. Son, ■*"" 

Rather approv'd them not ; but thou didst plead 
Divine Impulsion prompting how thou might'st 
Find some occasion to infest our foes. 
I state not that ; this I am sure, our foes 
Found soon occasion thereby to make thee *^ 

Their captive, and their triumph ; thou the sooner 
Temptation found'st, or over-potent charms 
To violate the sacred trust of silence 
Deposited within thee ; which to have kept 
Tacit, was In thy pow'r : true ; and thou bear'st *^ 

Enough, and more, the burden of that fault ; 
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying 
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains, 
This day the Philistines a popular feast 
Here celebrate in Gaza ; and proclarae *^ 

Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud 
To Dagon, as their God who hath dellver'd 
Thee, Samson, bound and blind into their hands, 
Them out of thine, who slew'st them many a slain. 
So Dagon shall be magnify'd, and God, **" 

Besides whom is no God, compar'd with Idols, 
Dlsglorify'd, blasphem'd, and had in scorn 
By the idolatrous rout amidst their wine ; 
Which to have come to pass by means of thee, 
Samson, of all thy sufferings think the heaviest, - ^" 



240 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Of all reproach the most with shame that ever 
Could have befall'n thee and thy father's house. 

Sams. Father, I do acknowledge and confess 
That I this honor, I this pomp have brought 
To Dagon, and advanc'd his praises high 
Among the Heathen round ; to God have brought 
Dishonor, obloquy, and op'd the mouths 
Of idolists, and atheists : have brought scandal 
To Israel, diffidence of God, and doubt 
In feeble hearts, propense enough before 
To waver, or fall off and join with idols ; 
Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow, 
The anguish of my soul, that suffers not 
Mine eye to harbour sleep, or thoughts to rest. 
This only hope relieves me, that the strife ^^ 

With me hath end ; all the contest is now 
'Twixt God and Dagon ; Dagon hath presum'd, 
Me overthrown, to enter lists with God, 
His deity comparing and preferring 

Before the God of Abraham. He, be sure, *^ 

Will not connive, or linger, thus provok'd. 
But will arise and his great name assert : 
Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive 
Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him 
Of all these boasted trophies won on me, *™ 

And with confusion blank his worshippers. 

3Ian. With cause this hope relieves thee, and these words 
I as a prophecy receive ; for God, 
Nothing more certain, will not long defer 
To vindicate the glory of his name * * 

Against all competition, nor will long 
Indure it doubtful whether God be Lord, 
Or Dagon. But for thee what shall be done ? 
Thou must not in the mean while here forgot 
Lie in this miserable loathsome plight ^' 

Neglected. I already have made way 
To some Philistian lords, with whom to treat 
About thy ransome : well they may by this 
Have satisfy'd their utmost of revenge 

By pains and slavei-ies, worse than death inflicted *^ 

On thee, who now no more canst do them harm. 



JOHN MILTON. 241 

Sams. Spare that proposal, Father, spare the trouble 
Of that solicitation ; let me here 
As I deserve, pay on my punishment ; 
And expiate, if possible, my crime, **• 

Shameful garrulity. To have reveal'd 
Secrets of men, the secrets of a friend, 
How hainous had the fact been, how deserving 
Contempt, and scorn of all, to be excluded 
All friendship, and avoided as a blab, *®* 

The mark of fool set on his front ? 
But I God's counsel have not kept, his holy secret 
Presumptuously have publish'd, impiously, 
Weakly at least, and shamefully : a sin 
That Gentiles in their parables condemn **"' 

To their abyss and horrid pains confin'd. 

Man. Be penitent and for thy fault contrite, 
But act not in thy own affliction. Son ; 
Repent the sin, but if the punishment 
Thou canst avoid, self preservation bids ; *** 

Or th'execution leave to high disposal, 
And let another hand, not thine, exact 
Thy penal forfeit from thyself; perhaps 
God will relent, and quit thee all his debt ; 
Who ever more approves and more accepts ^^ 

(Best pleas'd with humble' and filial submission) 
Him who imploring mercy sues for life. 
Than who self-rigorous chooses death as due ; 
Which argues over-just, and self-displeas'd 
For self-offense, more than for God offended. ^* 

Reject not then what offer'd means ; who knows 
But God hath set before us, to return thee 
Home to thy country and his saci-ed house. 
Where thou may'st bring thy offerings, to avert 
His further ire, with pray'rs and vows renew'd ? ^^ 

Sams. His pardon I implore ; but as for life. 
To what end should I seek it ? when in strength 
All mortals I excell'd, and great in hopes 
With youthful courage and magnanimous thoughts 
Of birth from Heav'n foretold and high exploits, ^^ 

Full of divine instinct, after some proof 
Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond 
16 



242 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

The sons of Anak, famous now and blaz'd, 

Fearless of danger, like a petty God 

I walk'd about admir'd of all and dreaded *^ 

On hostile ground, none daring my affront. 

Then swoU'n with pride into the snare I fell 

Of fair fallacious looks, venereal trains, 

Soften'd with pleasure and voluptuous life ; 

At length to lay my head and hallow'd pledge *^ 

Of all my strength in the lascivious lap 

Of a deceitful concubine, who shore me 

Like a tame weather, all my precious fleece, 

Then turn'd me out ridiculous, despoil'd, 

Shav'n, and disarm'd among mine enemies. ^^ 

Clior. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks. 
Which many a famous warrior overturns,] 
Thou couldst repress, nor did the dancing ruby 
Sparkling, out-pour'd, the flavor, or the smell, 
Or taste that chears the heart of Gods and men, *^ 

Allure thee from the cool crystallin stream. 

Sams. Wherever fountain or fresh current flow'd 
Against the eastern ray, translucent, pure 
With touch ethereal of Heav'n's fiery rod, 
I drank, from the clear milky juice allaying ^^ 

Thirst, and refresh'd; nor envy'd them the grape 
Whose heads that turbulent liquor fills with fumes. 

Chor. O madness, to think use of strongest wines 
And strongest drinks our chief support of health, 
When God with these forbidd'n made choice to rear "^ 

His mighty champion, strong above compare, 
Whose drink was only fi-om the liquid brook. 

Sams. But what avail'd this temp'rance, not complete 
Against another object more enticing ? 
What boots it at one gate to make defense, °^ 

And at another to let in the foe. 
Effeminately vanquished ? by which means, 
Now blind, dishearten'd, sham'd, dishonor'd,queird. 
To what can I be useful, wherein serve 
My nation, and the work fi-om Heav'n impos'd, ^*^ 

But to sit idle on the household hearth, 
A bui'd'nous drone ; to visitants a gaze. 
Or pity'd object, these redundant locks 



JOHN MILTON. 243 

Eobustlous to no purpose clustring down, 

Vain monument of strength ; till length of years 5™ 

And sedentery numness craze my limbs 

To a contemptible old age obscure ? 

Here rather let me drudge and earn my bread, 

Till vermin or the draif of servile food 

Consume me, and oft-invocated death s^s 

Hasten the welcome end of all my pains. 

Man. Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift 

Which was expresly giv'n thee to annoy them ? 

Better at home lie bed-rid, not only idle, 

Inglorious, unemploy'd, with age out-worn. ^ 

But God who caus'd a fountain at thy prayer 

From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst t'allay 

After the brunt of battel, can as easy 

Cause light again within thy eyes to spring, 

Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast ; ^ 

And I persuade me so ; why else this strength 

Miraculous yet remaining in those locks ? 

His might continues in thee not for nought 

Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus. 

Sams. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend, "*' 

That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light, 

Nor th'other light of life continue long. 
But yield to double darkness nigh at hand : 

So much I feel my genial spirits droop. 

My hopes all flat, nature within me seems ^ 

In all her functions weary of herself. 

My race of glory run, and race of shame. 

And I shall shortly be with them that rest. 

3Ian. Believe not these suggestions which proceed 
From anguish of the mind and humors black, ^'"' 

That mingle with thy fancy. I however 
Must not omit a father's timely care 
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance 
By ransome, or how else : mean while be calm, 
And healing words fi-om these thy friends admit. ^^ 

Sams. O that torment should not be confin'd 
To the body's wounds and sores. 
With maladies innumerable 
In heart, head, breast and reins ; 



244 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

But must secret passage find 

To th'inmost mind, 

There exercise all his fierce accidents, 

And on her purest spirits prey, 

As on entrails, joints, and limbs, 

With answerable pains, but more intense, 

Though void of corporal sense. 

My griefs not only pain me 
As a lingring disease. 
But finding no redress, ferment and rage, 
Nor less than wounds immedicable 
Rankle, and fester, and gangrene. 
To black mortification. 

Thoughts my tormentors, arm'd with deadly sting 
Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts, 
Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise 
Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb 
Or medicinal liquor can asswage. 
Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp. 
Sleep hath forsook and giv'n me o'er 
To death's benumming opium as my only cure : 
Thence faintings, swoonlngs of despair. 
And sense of Heav'n's desertion. 

I was his nursling once and choice delight. 
His destin'd from the womb, 
Promis'd by heav'nly message twice descending. 
Under his special eye 
Abstemious I grew up and thriv'd amain ; 
He led me on to mightiest deeds 
Above the nerve of mortal arm 
Against th'uncircumcis'd, our enemies : 
But now hath cast me off as never known. 
And to those cruel enemies. 
Whom I by his appointment had provok'd, 
Left me all helpless with th'irreparable loss 
Of sight, reserv'd alive to be repeated 
The subject of their cruelty or scorn. 
Nor am I in the list of them that hope ; 
Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless ; 
This one prayer yet remains, might I be heard. 
No long petition, speedy death. 
The close of all my miseries, and the balm. 



JOHN MILTON. 245 

Chor. Many are the sayings of the wise 
In ancient and in modern books inroll'd, 
Extolling patience as the truest fortitude ; 
And to the bearing well of all calamities, ®^ 

All chances incident to man's frail life, 
Consolatories writ 

With study'd argument, and much persuasion sought 
Lenient of grief and anxious thought : 

But with th'afflicted in his pangs their sound ^^ 

Little prevails, or rather seems a tune 
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint ; 
Unless he feel within 
Some source of consolation from above, 
Secret refreshings, that repair his strength, ®^ 

And fainting spirits uphold. 

God of our fathers, what is man ! 
That thou tow'ards him with hand so various, 
Or might I say contrarious, 

Temper'st thy providence through his short course, ^'^ 

Not ev'nly, as thou rul'st 

Th'angelic orders and inferior creatures mute, 
Irrational and brute. 

Nor do I name of men the common rout. 
That wand'ring loose about ^^ 

Grow up and perish, as the summer flie, 
Heads without name no more remember'd, 
But such as thou hast solemnly elected, 
With gifts and graces eminently adorn'd 
To some great work, thy glory, ^^ 

And people's safety, which in part they' effect : 
Yet toward these thus dignify 'd, thou oft 
Amidst their highth of noon 

Changest thy count'nance, and thy hand with no regard 
Of highest favors past '^ 

From thee on them, or them to thee of service. 

Nor only dost degrade them, or remit 
To life obscur'd, which were a fair dismission. 
But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them high, 
Unseemly falls in human eye, ^^ 

Too grievous for the trespass or omission ; 
Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword 



246 REPKESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Of Heathen and profane, their carcases 

To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captiv'd ; 

Or to th' unjust tribunals, under change of times, ^^ 

And condemnation of th'ingrateful nuiltitude. 

If these they scape, perhaps in poverty 

With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down, 

Painful diseases and deform'd, 

In crude old age ; ^^ 

Though not disordinate, yet causless sufF'ring 

The punishment of dissolute days : in fine, 

Just or unjust alike seem miserable, 

For oft alike both come to evil end. 

So deal not with this once thy gloi-ious champion, ™^ 

The image of thy strength and mighty minister. 
What do I beg ? how hast thou dealt already ? 
Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn 
His labors, for thou canst, to peaceful end. 

But who is this, what thing of sea or land ? ^^^ 

Female of sex it seems, 
That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay. 
Comes this way sailing 
Like a stately ship 

Of Tarsus, bound for th'iles "^ 

Of Javan or Gadire 

With all her bravery on, and tackle trim, 
Sails fiU'd, and streamers waving. 
Courted by all the winds that hold them play. 
An amber scent of odorous perfume ^^ 

Her harbinger, a damsel train behind ; 
Some rich Philistian matron she may seem, 
And now at nearer view, no other certain 
Than Dalila thy Wife. ^24 

Sarns. My Wife, my Trait'ress let her not come near me. 

CJior. Yet on she moves, now stands and eyes thee fix'd, 
About t'have spoke, but now, with head declin'd 
Like a fair flow'r surcharg'd with dew, she weeps, 
And words address'd seem into tears dissolv'd, 
Wetting the borders of her silken veil : ^^ 

But now again she makes address to speak. 

Dal. With doubtful feet and wavering resolution 
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson, 



JOHN MILTON. 247 

Wliich to have merited, without excuse, 

I cannot but acknowledge ; yet if tears ^^ 

May expiate (though the fact more evil drew 

In the perverse event than I foresaw) 

My penance hath not slacken'd, though my pardon 

No way assur'd. But conjugal affection 

Prevailing over fear, and timorous doubt, '** 

Hath led me on desirous to behold 

Once more thy face, and know of thy estate. 

If ought in my ability may serve 

To lighten what thou suffer'st, and appease 

Thy mind with what amends is in my power, '*" 

Though late, yet in some part to recompense 

My rash but more unfortunate misdeed. 

Smns. Out, out Hysena ; these are thy wonted arts. 
And arts of every woman false like thee. 
To break ^11 faith, all vows, deceive, betray, ^'^ 

Then as repentant to submit, beseech, 
And reconcilement move with felgn'd remorse, 
Confess, and promise wonders in her change. 
Not truly penitent, but chief to try 

Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears, '*" 

His virtue or weakness which way to assail : 
Then with more cautious and instructed skill 
Again transgresses, and again submits ; 
That wisest and best men full oft beguU'd, 
With goodness principled not to reject '** 

The penitent, but ever to forgive. 
Are drawn to wear out miserable days, 
Intangled with a pois'nous bosom snake, 
If not by quick destruction soon cut off 
As I by thee, to ages an example. ^^ 

Dal. Yet hear me, Samson ; not that I endevor 
To lessen or extenuate my offense 
But that on th' other side if it be weigh'd 
By' itself, with aggravations not surcharg'd. 
Or else with just allowance counterpois'd, ^™ 

I may, if possible, thy pardon find 
The easier towards me, or thy hatred less. 
First granting, as I do, it was a weakness 
In me, but incident to all our sex, 



248 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Curiosity, inquisitive, importune 

Of secrets, then with like infirmity 

To publish them, both common female faults : 

Was it not weakness also to make known 

For importunity, that is for naught. 

Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety ? 

To what I did thou showd'st me fii'st the way. 

But I to enemies reveal'd, and should not : 

Nor should'st thou have trusted that to woman's frailty 

Ere I to thee, thou to thyself wast cruel. 

Let weakness then with weakness come to parle 

So near related, or the same of kind. 

Thine forgive mine ; that men may censure thine 

The gentler, if severely thou exact not 

More strength from me, than in thyself was found. 

And what if love, which thou interpret'st hate, 

The jealousy of love, powerful of sway 

In human hearts, nor less in mine tow'ards thee, 

Caus'd what I did ? I saw thee mutable 

Of fancy, fear'd lest one day thou would'st leave me 

As her at Timna, sought by all means therefore 

How to indear, and hold thee to me firmest : 

No better way I saw than by importuning 

To learn thy secrets, get into my power 

Thy key of strength and safety : thou wilt say, 

Why then reveal'd ? I was assur'd by those 

Who tempted me, that nothing was design'd 

Against thee but safe custody, and hold : 

That made for me ; I knew that liberty 

Would draw thee forth to perilous enterprises, 

While I at home sat full of cares and fears, 

Wailing thy absence in my widow'd bed ; 

Here I should still enjoy thee day and night 

Mine and love's prisoner, not the Philistines, 

Whole to myself, unhazarded abroad, 

Fearless at home of partners in my love. 

These reasons in love's law have past for good, 

Though fond and reasonless to some perhaps ; 

And love hath oft, well meaning, wrought much woe, 

Yet always pity' or pardon hath obtain'd. 

Be not unUke all others, not austere 



JOHN MILTON. 249 

As thou art strong, inflexible as steel. 

If thou in strength all mortals dost exceed, 

In uncompassionate anger do not so. 

Sains. How cunningly the sorceress displays 
Her own transgressions, to upbraid me mine ? ^^ 

That malice not repentance brought thee hither. 
By this appears: I gave, thou say'st, th'example, 
I led the way ; bitter reproach, but true ; 
I to myself was false ere thou to me ; 

Such pardon therefore as I give my folly, ^^ 

Take to thy wicked deed ; which when thou seest 
Impartial, self-severe, inexorable, 
Thou wilt renounce thy seeking, and much rather 
Confess it feign'd : weakness is thy excuse, 
And I believe it, weakness to resist ^^ 

Philistian gold : if weakness may excuse, 
What murderer, what traitor, parricide. 
Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it ? 
All wickedness is weakness : that plea therefore 
With God or Man will gain thee no remission. ®^ 

But love constrain'd thee ; call it furious rage 
To satisfy thy lust : love seeks to' have love ; 
My love how could'st thou hope, who took'st the way 
To raise in me inexpiable hate. 

Knowing, as needs I must, by thee betray'd ? ^^ 

In vain thou striv'st to cover shame with shame, 
Or by evasions thy crime uncover'st more. 

Dal. Since thou determin'st weakness for no plea 
In man or woman, though to thy own condemning, 
Hear what assaults I had, what snares besides, ^ 

What sieges girt me round, ere I consented ; 
Which might have aw'd the best resolv'd of men. 
The constantest, to' have yielded without blame. 
It was not gold, as to my charge thou lay'st. 
That wrought with me : thou know'st the magistrates ^^ 
And princes of my country came in person, 
Solicited, commanded, threaten'd, urg'd, 
Adjur'd by all the bonds of civil duty 
And of religion, press'd how just it was, 
How honorable, how glorious to intrap ^™ 

A common enemy, who had destroy'd 



250 REPKESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Such numbers of our nation : and the priest 
Was not behind, but ever at my ear, 
Preaching how meritorious with the Gods 
It would be to insnare an irreligious ^ 

Dishonorer of Dagon : what had I 
T'oppose against such pow'rful arguments ? 
Only my love of thee held long debate, 
And combated in silence all these reasons 
With hard contest : at length that grounded maxim ^'^ 

So rife and celebrated in the mouths 
Of wisest men, that to the public good 
Private respects must yield, with grave authority 
Took full possession of me and prevail'd ; 
Virtue, as I thought, truth, duty so Injoining. ^° 

Sa7ns. I thought where all thy circling wiles would end ; 
In feign'd religion, smooth hypocrisy. 
But had thy love, still odiously pretended, 
Been, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught thee 
Far other reasonings, brought forth other deeds. ^^* 

I before all the daughters of my tribe 
And of my nation chose thee from among 
My enemies, lov'd thee, as too well thou knew'st, 
Too well, unbosom'd all my secrets to thee, 
Not out of levity, but over-power'd ^^ 

By thy request, who could deny thee nothing ; 
Yet now am judg'd an enemy. Why then 
Didst thou at first receive me for thy husband. 
Then, as since then, thy country's foe profess'd ? 
Being once a wife, for me thou wast to leave ^^ 

Parents and country ; nor was I their subject, 
Nor under their protection but my own. 
Thou mine, not theirs : if ought against my life 
Thy country sought of thee, it sought unjustly, 
Against the law of nature, law of nations, ^^ 

No more thy country, but an impious crew 
Of men conspiring to uphold their state 
By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends 
For which our country is a name so dear ; 
Not therefore to be' obey'd. But zeal mov'd thee; ^^^ 

To pleEise thy Gods thou didst it ; Gods unable 
T'acquit themselves and prosecute their foes 



JOHN MILTON. 251 

But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction 

Of their own deity, Gods cannot be ; 

Less therefore to be pleas'd, obey'd, or fear'd. ^"^ 

These false pretexts and varnish'd colors failing, 

Bare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear ? 

Dal. In argument with men a woman ever 
Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause. 

Sams. For want of words no doubt, or lack of breath ; '"'^ 
Witness when I was worried with thy peals. 

Dal. I was a fool, too rash, and quite mistaken 
In what I thought would have succeeded best. 
Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson, 
Afford me place to show what recompense ^^^ 

Tow'ards thee I intend for what I have misdone, 
Misguided ; only what remains past cure 
Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist 
T'afflict thyself in vain : though sight be lost, 
Life yet hath many solaces, enjoy 'd ^^^ 

Where other senses want not their delights 
At home in leisure and domestic ease, 
Exempt from many a care and chance to which 
Eye-sight exposes daily men abroad. 

I to the lords will intercede, not doubting ^^ 

Their favorable ear, that I may fetch thee 
From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide 
With me, where my redoubled love and care 
With nursing diligence, to me glad office, 
May ever tend about thee to old age ®^ 

With all things grateful chear'd, and so supply'd, 
That what by me thou' hast lost thou least shalt miss. 

Sams. No, no, of my condition take no care ; 
It fits not ; thou and I long since are twain ; 
Nor think me so unwary or accurs'd, ^** 

To bring my feet again into the snare 
Where once I have been caught ; I know thy trains 
Though deai'ly to my cost, thy gins, and toils ; 
Thy fair inchanted cup, and warbling charms 
No more on me have pow'r, their force is null'd, ^^ 

So much of adders wisdom I have learn'd 
To fence my ear against thy sorceries. 
If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men 



252 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Lov'd, honor'd, fear'd me, thou alone could'st hate me 

Thy husband, slight me, sell me, and forgo me ; 

How wouldst thou use me now, blhid, and thereby 

Deceivable, in most things as a child 

Helpless, thence easily contenm'd, and scorn'd, 

And last neglected ? How wouldst thou insult, 

When I must live uxorious to thy will 

In perfect thraldom, how again betray me, 

Bearing my words and doings to the lords 

To gloss upon, and censuring, frown or smile ? 

This jail I count the house of liberty 

To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter. 

Dal. Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand. 

Sams. Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance wake 
My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint. 
At distance I forgive thee, go with that ; 
Bewail thy falshood, and the pious works 
It hath brought forth to make thee memorable 
Among illustrious women, faithful wives ; 
Cherish thy hasten'd widowhood with the gold 
Of matrimonial treason : so farewell. 

Dal. I see thou art implacable, more deaf 
To pray'rs, than winds and seas, yet winds to seas 
Are reconcil'd at length, and sea to shore : 
Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages. 
Eternal tempest never to be calm'd. 
Why do I humble thus myself, and suing 
For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate ? 
Bid go with evil omen and the brand 
Of Infamy upon my name dcnounc'd ? 
To mix with thy concernments I desist 
Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own. 
Fame if not double-fac'd is double-mouth'd. 
And with contrary blast proclaraes most deeds ; 
On both his wings, one black, the other white, 
Bears greatest names in his wild aery flight. 
My name perhaps among the circumcis'd 
In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering tribes. 
To all posterity may stand defam'd, 
With malediction nicntion'd, and the blot 
Of falshood most unconjugal tradoc'd. 



il 



JOHN MILTON. 253 

But In my country where I most desire, ^° 

In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath, 

I shall be nam'd among the famousest 

Of women, sung at solemn festivals, 

Living and dead recorded, who to save 

Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose ^ 

Above the faith of wedlock-bands, my tomb 

With odors visited and annual Jflowers ; 

Not less renown'd than in mount Ephraim 

Jael, who with inhospitable guile 

Smote Sisera sleeping through the temples nail'd. "* 

Nor shall I count it hainous to enjoy 

The public marks of honor and reward 

Conferr'd upon me, for the piety 

Which to my country I was judg'd to' have shown. 

At this who ever envies or repines, 

I leave him to his lot, and like my own. 

CJior. She's gone, a manifest serpent by her sting 
Discover'd in the end, till now conceal'd. 

Sams. So let her go, God sent her to debase me, 
And aggravate my folly, who committed ^'^ 

To such a viper his most sacred trust 
Of secresy, my safety, and my life. 

Chor. Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, 
After offense returning, to regain 

Love once possess'd, nor can be easily -^"^ 

Repuls'd, without much inward passion felt 
And secret sting of amorous remorse. 

Sams. Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end, 
Not wedlock-treachery indang'ring life. 

Chor. It is not virtue, wisdom, valor, wit, ^"^^ 

Strength, comeUness of shape, or amplest merit 
That woman's love can win or long inherit ; 
But what it is, hard is to say, 
Harder to hit, 

(Which way soever men refer it) ^™^ 

Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day 
Or sev'n, though one should musing sit. 

If any of these or all, the Timnian bride 
Had not so soon preferr'd 
Thy paranymph, worthless to thee corapar'd, ^ " 



254 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Successor in thy bed, 

Nor both so loosly disally'd 

Their nuptials, nor this last so treacherously 

Had shorn the fatal harvest of thy head. 

Is it for that such outward ornament 

Was lavish'd on their sex, that inward gifts 

Were left for haste unfinish'd, judgment scant, 

Capacity not rais'd to apprehend 

Or value what is best 

In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong ? 

Or was too much of self-love mix'd. 

Of constancy no root infix'd, 

That either they love nothing, or not long ? 

Whate'er it be, to wisest men and best 
Seeming at first all heav'nly under virgin veil, 
Soft; modest, meek, demure. 
Once join'd, the contrary she proves, a thorn 
Intestin, far within defensive arms 
A cleaving mischief, in his way to virtue 
Adverse and turbulent, or by her charms 
Draws him awry inslav'd 
With dotage, and his sense deprav'd 
To folly' and shameful deeds which ruin ends. 
What pilot so expert but needs must wreck 
Imbark'd with such a steei-s-mate at the helm ? 

Favor'd of Heav'n who finds 
One virtuous rarely found. 
That in domestic good combines : 
Happy that house ! his way to peace is smooth : 
But virtue which breaks through all opposition. 
And all temptation can remove. 
Most shines and most is acceptable above. 

Therefore God's universal law 
Gave to the man despotic power 
Over his female in due awe. 
Nor from that right to part an hour, 
Smile she or lour : 
So shall he least confusion draw 
On his whole life, not sway'd 
By female usurpation, or dismay'd. 

But had we best retire, I see a storm ? 



JOHN MILTON. 255 

Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain. 

Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings. 

Sams. Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past. 

Chor. Look now for no inchanting voice, nor fear ■^"'^ 
The bait of honied words ; a rougher tongue 
Draws hitherward, I know him by his stride, 
The giant Harapha of Gath, his look 
Haughty as is his pile high-built and proud. 
Comes he in peace V what wind hath blown him hither ^**^'' 
I less conjecture than when first I saw 
The sumptuous Dalila floting this way : 
His habit carries peace, his brow defiance. 

Sams. Or peace or not, alike to me he comes. ^'"^^ 

CJi07\ His fraught we soon shall know, he now arrives. 

Ear. I come not, Samson, to condole thy chance, 
As these perhaps, yet wish it had not been. 
Though for no friendly' intent. I am of Gath, 
Men call me Harapha, of stock renown'd 
As Og or Anak and the Emims old ^"^ 

That Kiriathaim held, thou know'st me now 
If thou at all art known. Much I have heard 
Of thy prodigious might and feats perform'd 
Incredible to me, in this displeas'd. 

That I was never present on the place ^'^^ 

Of those encounters, where we might have try'd 
Each other's force in camp or listed field : 
And now have come to see of whom such noise 
Hath walk'd about, and each limb to survey, 
If thy appearance answer loud report. ^^'* 

Sams. The way to know were not to see but taste. 

Har. Dost thou already single me ? I thought 
Gyves and the mill had tam'd thee. O that fortune 
Had brought me to the field, where thou art fam'd 
To' have wrought such wonders with an ass's jaw ; ^""^ 

I should have forc'd thee soon with other arms. 
Or left thy carcass where the ass lay thrown : 
So had the glory' of prowess been recover'd 
To Palestine, won by Philistine 

From the unfbreskin'd race, of whom thou bear'st ^^*' 

The highest name for vaUant acts ; that honor 
Certain to' have won by mortal duel from thee, 
I lose, prevented by thy eyes put out. 



256 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Sams. Boast not of what thou wouldst have done, but do 
What then thou wouldst, thou seest It in thy hand. ^^^^ 

Har. To combat with a blind man I disdain. 
And thou hast need much washing to be touch'd. 

Sams. Such usage as your honorable lords 
Afford me' assassinated and betray'd, 
Who durst not with their whole united powers 
In fight withstand me single and unarm'd, 
Nor in the house with chamber ambushes 
Close-banded durst attack me, no not sleeping, 
Till they had hir'd a woman with their gold 
Breaking her marriage faith to circumvent me. ^^^® 

Therefore without feign'd shifts let be assign'd 
Some narrow place inclos'd, where sight may give thee, 
Or rather flight, no great advantage on me ; 
Then put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy helmet 
And brigandine of brass, thy broad habergeon, ^^^ 

Vant-brass and greves, and gauntlet, add thy spear, 
A weaver's beam, and sev'n-times-folded shield, 
I only with an oaken staff will meet thee, 
And raise such outcries on thy clatter'd iron. 
Which long shall not withhold me from thy head, ^^ 

That in a little time while breath remains thee 
Thou oft shalt wish thyself at Gath to boast 
Again In safety what thou wouldst have done 
To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more. 

Har. Thou durst not thus disparage glorious arms, ^^'^ 
Which greatest heroes have in battel worn. 
Their ornament and safety, had not spells 
And black inchantments, some magician's art, 
Arm'd thee or charm'd thee strong, which thou from Heaven 
Feign'dst at thy birth was giv'n thee In thy hair, ^^^ 

Where strength can least abide, though all thy hairs 
Were bristles rang'd like those that ridge the back 
Of chaf 'd wild boars, or ruffled porcupines. 

Sams. I know no spells, use no forbidden arts ; 
My trust is In the living God, who gave me "■*" 

At my nativity this strength, diffus'd 
No less through all my sinews, joints and bones, 
Than thine, while I prescrv'd these locks unshorn, 
The pledge of my unvlolated vow, 



JOHN MILTON. 257 

For proof thereof, If Dagon be thy God, ^^^ 

Go to his temple invocate his aid 

With solemnest devotion, spread before him 

How highly it concerns his glory now 

To frustrate and dissolve these magic spells, 

Which I to be the power of Israel's God "^ 

Avow, and challenge Dagon to the test, 

Offering to combat thee his champion bold, 

With th'utmost of his Godhead seconded : 

Then thou shalt see, or rather to thy sorrow 

Soon feel, whose God is strongest, thine or mine. ^^^ 

Har. Presume not on thy God, what'er he be, 
Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut off 
Quite from his people, and deliver'd up 
Into thy enemies hand, permitted them 
To put out both thine eyes, and fetter'd send thee "^^ 

Into the common prison, there to grind 
Among the slaves and asses thy comrades, 
As good for nothing else, no better service 
With those thy boist'rous locks, no worthy match 
For valor to assail, nor by the sword "^ 

Of noble warrior, so to stain his honor. 
But by the barber's razor best subdued. 

Sams. All these indignities, for such they are 
From thine, these evils I deserve and more. 
Acknowledge them from God inflicted on me jj^q 

Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon 
Whose ear is ever open, and his eye 
Gracious to re-admit the suppliant ; 
In confidence whereof I once again 

Defy thee to the trial of mortal fight, ^^^ 

By combat to decide whose God Is God, 
Thine or whom I with Israel's sons adore. 

Har. Fair honor that thou dost thy God, in trusting 
He will accept thee to defend his cause, 
A Murderer, a Revolter, and a Robber. ^^^ 

Sams. Tongue-doughty Giant, how dost thou prove me 
these ? 

Har. Is not thy nation subject to our lords ? 
Their magistrates confess'd it, when they took thee 
As a league-breaker and deliver'd bound 
17 



258 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Into our hands : for hadst thou not committed 

Notorious murder on those thirty men 

At Ascalon, who never did thee harm, 

Then like a robber stripp'dst them of their robes ? 

The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league. 

Went up with armed pow'rs thee only seeking, 

To others did no violence nor spoil. 

Sams. Among the daughters of the Philistines 
I chose a wife, which argued me no foe ; 
And in your city held my nuptial feast : 
But your ill-meaning politician lords, 
Under pretence of bridal friends and guests. 
Appointed to await me thirty spies, 
Who threatning cruel death constrain'd the bride 
To wring from me and tell to them my secret. 
That solv'd the riddle which I had propos'd. 
When I perceiv'd all set on enmity, 
As on my enemies, wherever chanc'd, 
I us'd hostility, and took their spoil 
To pay my underminers in their coin. 
My nation was subjected to your lords. 
It was the force of conquest ; force with force 
Is well ejected when the conquer'd can. 
But I a private person, whom my country 
As a league-breaker gave up bound, presum'd 
Single rebellion and did hostile acts. 
I was no private but a person rais'd 
With strength sufficient and command from Heaven 
To free my country ; if their servile minds 
Me their deliverer sent would not receive. 
But to their masters gave me up for nought, 
Th'unworthier they ; whence to this day they serve 
I was to do my part from Heav'n assign 'd, 
And had perform'd it, if my known offense 
Had not disabled me, not all your force : 
These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant 
Though by his blindness maim'd for high attempts, 
Who now defies thee thrice to single fight, 
As a petty enterprise of small enforce. 

Har. With thee a man condemn'd, a slave inroU'd, 
Due by the law to capital punishment ? 
To fieht with thee no man of arms will deijrn. 



JOHN MILTON. 259 

Sams. Cam'st thou for this, vain boaster, to survey me, 
To descant on my strength, and give thy verdict ? 
Come nearer, part not hence so slight inform'd ; 
But take good heed my hand survey not thee. ^^^ 

Har. O Baal-zebub ! can my ears unus'd 
Hear these dishonors, and not render death ? 

Sams. No man withholds thee, nothing from thy hand 
Fear I incurable ; bring up thy van. 
My heels are fetter'd, but my fist is free. ^^^ 

Har. This insolence other kind of answer fits. 

Sams. Go baffled coward, lest I run upon thee, 
Though in these chains, bulk without spirit vast. 
And with one buffet lay thy structure low. 
Or swing thee in the air, then dash thee down ^^^ 

To th'hazard of thy brains and shatter'd sides. 

Har. By Astaroth ere long thou shalt lament 
These braveries in irons loaden on thee. 

Chor. His giantship is gone somewhat crest-faU'n 
Stalking with less unconscionable strides, ^^^ 

And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe. 

Sams. I dread him not, nor all his giant-brood, 
Though fame divulge him father of five sons. 
All of gigantic size, Goliah chief. 

CJior. He will directly to the lord?, I fear, ^^ 

And with malicious counsel stir them up 
Some way or other yet further to afflict thee. 

Sams. He must allege some cause, and offer'd fight 
Will not dare mention, lest a question rise 
Whether he durst accept the' ofier or not, ^^^ 

And that he durst not plain enough appear'd. 
Much more affliction than already felt 
They cannot well impose, nor I sustain ; 
If they intend advantage of my labors. 
The work of many hands, which earns my keeping ^^^ 

With no small profit daily to my owners. 
But come what will, my deadliest foe will prove 
My speediest friend, by death to rid me hence, 
The worst that he can give, to me the best. 
Yet so it may fall out, because their end ^^' 

Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine 
Draw their own ruin who attempt the deed. 



260 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Chor. Oh how comely it is, and how reviving 
To the spirits of j ust men long oppress'd ! 
When God into the hands of their deliverer 
Puts invincible might 

To quell the mighty of the earth, th'oppressor. 
The brute and boist'rous force of violent men 
Hardy and industrious to support 
Tyrannic pow'r, but raging to pursue 
The righteous and all such as honor truth ; 
He all their ammunition 
And feats of war defeats 
With plain heroic magnitude of mind 
And celestial vigor arm'd, 
Their armories and magazines contemns, 
Renders them useless, while 
With winged expedition 
Swift as the lightning glance he executes 
His errand on the wicked, who surpris'd 
Lose their defense distracted and amaz'd. 

But patience is more oft the exei'cise 
Of saints, the trial of their fortitude, 
Making them each his own deliverer, 
And victor over all 
That tyranny or fortune can inflict. 
Either of these is in thy lot, 
Samson, with might indued 
Above the sons of men ; but sight bereav'd 
May cTiance to number thee with those 
Whom patience finally must crown. 

This idol's day hath been to thee no day of rest, 
Laboring thy mind 

More than the working day thy hands. 
And yet perhaps more trouble is behind, 
For I descry this way 
Some other tending, in his hand 
A scepter or quaint staff he bears, 
Comes on amain, speed in his look. 
By his habit I discern him now 
A public Officer, and now at hand. 
His message will be short and voluble. 

Off. Hebrews, the pris'ner Samson here I seek. 



JOHN MILTON. 261 

Chor. His manacles remark him, there he sits. 

Off. Samson, to thee our lords thus bid me say ; ■'^^* 

This day to Dagon is a solemn feast, 
With sacrifices, triumph, pomp, and games ; 
Thy strength they know surpassing human rate, 
And now some public proof thereof require 
To honor this great feast, and great assembly ; ^^^^ 

Rise therefore with all speed and come along, 
Where I will see thee hearten'd and fresh clad 
To' appear as fits before th'illustrious lords. 

Sams. Thou know'st I am an Hebrew, therefore tell them, 
Our Law forbids at their religious rites ^^* 

My presence ; for that cause I cannot come. 

Off. This answer, be assur'd, will not content them. 

Sams. Have they not sword-players, and every sort 
Of gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners, 
Juglers and dancefs, antics, mummers, mimics, ^^^ 

But they must pick me out with shackles tir'd, 
And over-labor'd at their public mill. 
To make them sport with blind activity ? 
Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels 
On my refusal to distress me more, ^^^ 

Or make a game of my calamities ? 
Return the way thou cam'st, I will not come. 

Off. Regard thyself, this will offend them highly. 

Sams. Myself? my conscience and Internal peace. 
Can they think me so broken, so debas'd ^^^ 

With corporal servitude, that my mind ever 
Will condescend to such absurd commands ? 
Although their drudge, to be their fool or jester, 
And in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief 
To show them feats, and play before their God, ^'^"^ 

The worst of all Indignities, yet on me 
Join'd with extreme contempt ? I will not come. 

Off. My message was impos'd on me with speed, 
Brook* no delay : Is this thy resolution ? 

Sam^. So take it with what speed thy message needs. ^^^ 

Off. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce. 

Sams. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to soitow indeed. 

Chor. Consider, Samson ; matters now are straln'd 
Up to the highth, whether to hold or break ; 



262 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

He's gone, and who knows how he may report ^^^ 

Thy words by adding fuel to the flame ? 

Expect another message more imperious, 

More lordly thund'ring than thou well wilt bear. 

Sams. Shall I abuse this consecrated gift 
Of strength, again returning with my hair ^^^ 

After my great transgression, so requite 
Favor renew'd, and add a greater sin 
By prostituting holy things to idols ; 
A Nazarlte in place abominable 

Vaunting my strength in honor to their Dagon ? ^^^ 

Besides how vile, contemptible, ridiculous, 
What act more execrably unclean, profane ? 

Chor. Yet with this strength thou serv'st the Philistines, 
Idolatrous, unclrcumcls'd, unclean. 

Sams. Not In their idol-worship, but by labor ^^^ 

Honest and lawful to deserve my food 
Of those who have me in their civil power. 

Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile 
not. 

Sams. Where outward force constrains, the sentence 
holds. 
But who constrains me to the temple' of Dagon, ^^^ 

Not dragging ? the Phillstian lords command. 
Commands are no constraints. If I obey them, 
I do It freely, vent'ring to displease 
God for the fear of Man, and Man prefer, 
Set God behind : which in his jealousy ^^^ 

Shall never, unrepented, find forgiveness. 
Yet that he may dispense with me or thee 
Present In temples at Idolatrous rites 
For some Important cause, thou need'st not doubt. ^^'^ 

Chor. How thou wilt here come off surmounts my reach. 

Sams. Be of good courage, I begin to feel 
Some rousing motions In me which dispose 
To something extraordinary my thoughts. • 

I with this messenger will go along, 

Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonor ^^^ 

Our law, or stain my vow of Nazarite. 
If there be ought of presage In the mind, 
This day will be remarkable In my life 
By some great act, or of my days the last. 



JOHN MILTON. 263 

Chor. In time thou hast resolv'd, the man retm'ns. ^^^ 

Off. Samson, this second message from our lords 
To thee I am bid say. Art thou our slave, 
Our captive, at the public mill our drudge. 
And dar'st thou at our sending and command 
Dispute thy coming ? come without delay ; ^^® 

Or we shall find such engins to assail 
And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force, 
Though thou wert firmlier fastened than a rock. 

Sams. I could be well content to try their art, 
Which to no few of them would prove pernicious. ^^^ 

Yet knowing their advantages too many, 
Because they shall not trail me through their streets 
Like a wild beast, I am content to go. 
Masters commands come with a pow'r resistless 
To such as owe them absolute subjection ; ^'^ 

And for a life who will not change his purpose ? 
(So mutable are all the ways of men) 
Yet this be sure, in nothing to comply 
Scandalous or forbidden in our Law. 

Off. I praise thy resolution : doff these links : ^^^^ 

By this compliance thou wilt win the lords 
To favor, and perhaps to set thee free. 

Sams. Brethren farewel ; your company along 
I will not wish, lest it perhaps offend them 
To see me girt with fHends ; and how the sight "^ 

Of me as of a common enemy. 
So dreaded once, may now exasperate them 
I know not : lords are lordliest in their wine ; 
And the well-feasted priest then soonest fir'd 
With zeal, if ought religion seem concern'd ; ^^^ 

No less the people on their holy-days 
Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable : 
Happen what may, of me expect to hear 
Nothing dishonorable, impure, unworthy 
Our God, our Law, my Nation, or myself, ^*^ 

The last of me or no I cannot warrant. 

Chor. Go, and the Holy One 
Of Israel be thy guide 

To what may serve his glory best, and spread his name 
Great among the Heathen round ; ^'^^ 

Send thee the Angel of thy birth, to stand 



264 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Fast by thy side, who from thy father's field 

Rode up in flames after his message told 

Of thy conception, and be now a shield 

Of fire ; that Spirit that first rushed on thee ^^^ 

In the camp of Dan 

Be efiicacious in thee now at need. 

For never was from Heav'n imparted 

Measure of strengtli so great to mortal seed, 

As in thy wondrous actions hath been seen. ^^^ 

But wherefore comes old Manoah in such haste 

With youthful steps ? much livelier than ere while 

He seems : supposing here to find his son, 

Or of him bringing to us some glad news ? ^*** 

Man. Peace with you, Brethren ; my inducement hither 
Was not at present here to find my son, 
By order of the lords new parted hence 
To come and play before them at their feast. 
I heard all as I came, the city rings, 

And numbers thither flock. I had no will, ^*^ 

Lest I should see him forc'd to things unseemly. 
But that which moved my coming now, was chiefly 
To give ye part with me what hope I have 
With good success to work his liberty. 

Chor. That hope would much rejoice us to partake ^**^ 
With thee ; say, reverend Sire, we thii'st to hear. 

Man. I have attempted one by one the lords 
Either at home, or through the high street passing, 
With supplication prone and father's tears, 
T'accept of ransome for my son their pris'ner. ^'*™ 

Some much averse I found and wondrous harsh, 
Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite ; 
That part most reverenc'd Dagon and his priests : 
Others more moderate seeming, but their aim 
Private reward, for which both God and State ^^^ 

They easily would set to sale : a third 
More generous far and civil, who confess'd 
They had enough reveng'd, having reduc'd 
Their foe to misery beneath their fears. 
The rest was magnanimity to remit, "™ 

If some convenient ransome were propos'd. 
What noise or shout was that ? it tore the sky. 
Chor. Doubtless the people shouting to behold 



JOHN MILTON. 265 

Their once great dread, captive, and blind before tlieui. 
Or at some proof of strength before them shown. ^''^^ 

Man. His ransome, if my whole Inheritance 
May compass it, shall wiUlngly be paid 
And number'd down : much rather I shall choose 
To live the poorest in my tribe, than richest, 
And he in that calamitous prison left. ^^^ 

No, I am fix'd not to part hence without him. 
For his redemption all my patrimony, 
If need be, I am ready to forgo 
And quit"! not wanting him, I shall want nothing. 

Chor. Fathei-s are wont to lay up for their sons, ^'^^ 

Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all ; 
Sons wont to nurse their parents in old age. 
Thou in old age car'st how to nurse thy son 
Made older than thy age through eye-sight lost. 

Man. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes, ^^^ 

And view him sitting in the house, ennobled 
With all those high exploits by him achiev'd, 
And on his shoulders waving down those locks, 
That of a nation arm'd the strength contain'd : 
And I pei-suade me God had not permitted ^^® 

His strength again to grow up with his hair 
Garrison'd round about him like a camp 
Of faithful soldiery, were not his purpose 
To use him further yet in some great service, 
Not to sit idle with so great a gift ^™ 

Useless, and thence ridiculous about him. 
And since his strength with eye-sight was not lost, 
God will restore him eye-sight to his strength. 

Chor. Thy hoj)es are not ill founded nor seem vain 
Of his delivery, and thy joy thereon ^^'^ 

Conceiv'd, agreeable to a father's love. 
In both which we, as next, participate. 

Man. I know your friendly minds and — O what noise ! 
Mercy of Heav'n, what hideous noise was that ! 
Horribly loud, unlike the former shout. ^"^^ 

Chor. Noise call you it or universal groan. 
As if the whole inhabitation perish'd ! 
Blood, death, and deathful deeds are In that noise, 
Ruin, destruction at the utmost point. 



266 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Man. Of ruin indeed methouglit I heard the noise : 
Oh it continues, they have slain my son. 

Chor. Thy son is rather slaying them, that outcry 
From slaughter of one foe could not ascend. 

Man. Some dismal accident it needs must be ; 
What shall we do, stay here or run and see ? 

Chor. Best keep together here, lest running thither 
We unawares run into danger's mouth. 
This evil on the Philistines is fall'n ; 
From whom could else a general cry be heard ? 
The sufferers then will scarce molest us here, 
From other hands we need not much to fear. 
What if his eye-sight (for to Israel's God 
Nothing is hard) by miracle restor'd, 
He now be dealing dole among his foes, 
And over heaps of slaughter'd walk his way. 

Man. That were a joy presumptuous to be thought. 

Chor. Yet God hath wrought things as incredible 
For his people of old ; what hindere now ? 

Man. He can I know, but doubt to think he will ; 
Yet hope would fain subscribe, and tempts belief. 
A little stay will bring some notice hither. 

Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner ; 
For evil news rides post, while good news baits. 
And to our wish I see one hither speeding, 
An Hebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe. 

Mess. O wliither shall I run, or which way fly 
The sight of tiiis so horrid spectacle, 
Which erst my eyes beheld and yet behold ? 
For dire imagination still pursues me. 
But providence or instinct of nature seems. 
Or reason though disturb'd, and scarce consulted, 
To'have guided me aright, I know not how. 
To thee first reverend Manoah, and to these 
My countrymen, whom here I knew remaining 
As at some distance from the place of horror, 
So in the sad event too much concern'd. 

Man. The accident was loud, and here before thee 
With rueful cry, yet what it was we hear not ; 
No preface needs, thou seest we long to know. 

Mess. It would burst forth, but I recover breath 
And sense distract, to know well what I utter. 



JOHN MILTON. 267 

Man. Tell us the sum, the circumstance defer. 

Mess. Gaza yet stands, but all her sons are fall'n, 
All in a moment overwhelm'd and fall'n. 

3fan. Sad, but thou know'st to Israelites not saddest ^'^ 
The desolation of a hostile city. 

Mess. Feed on that first, there may in grief be surfeit. 

Man. Relate by whom. 

Mess. By Samson. 

Man. That still lessens 
The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy. 

Mess, Ah Manoah, I refrain, too suddenly ^^^ 

To utter what will come at last too soon ; 
Lest evil tidings with too rude irruption 
Hitting thy aged ear should pierce too deep. 

Man. Suspense in news is torture, speak them out. 

Mess. Take then the worst in brief, Samson is dead. ^^™ 

Alan. The worst indeed, O all my hope's defeated 
To free him hence ! but death who sets all free 
Hath paid his ransome now and full discharge. 
What windy joy this day had I conceiv'd 
Hopeful of his delivery, which now proves ^^^^ 

Abortive as the first-born bloom of spring 
Nipt with the lagging rear of winter's frost 1 
Yet ere I give the reins to grief, say first, 
How dy'd he ; death to life his crown or shame. 
All by him fell thou say'st, by whom fell he, ^"^ 

What glorious hand gave Samson his death's wound ? 

Mess. Unwounded of his enemies he fell. 

Man. Wearied with slaughter then or how ? explain. 

Mess. By his own hands. 

Man. Self-violence ? what cause 
Brought him so soon at variance with himself 
Among his foes ? . ■'^^ 

Mess. Inevitable cause 
At once both to destroy and be destroy'd ; 
The edifice, where all were met to see him, 
Upon their heads and upon his own he puU'd. ^^^ 

Alan. O lastly over-strong against thyself! 
A dreadful way thou took'st to thy revenge. 
More than enough we know ; but while things yet 
Are in confusion, give us if thou canst, 



268 KEritESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Eye-witness of what first or last was done, 
Relation more particular and distinct. 

Mess. Occasions drew me early to this city, 
And as the gates I enter'd with sun-rise, 
The morning trumpets festival proclam'd 
Through each high street : little I had dispatch'd. 
When all abroad was rumor'd that this day 
Samson should be brought forth, to show the people 
Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games ; 
I sorrow'd at his captive state, but minded 
Not to be absent at that spectacle. 
The building was a spacious theatre 
Half-round on two main pillars vaulted high, 
AVith seats where all the lords and each degree 
Of sort, might sit In order to behold ; 
The other side was open, where the throng 
On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand ; 
I among these aloof obscurely stood. 
The feast and noon gi-ew high, and sacrifice 
Had fiU'd their hearts with mirth, high chear, and wine, 
When to their sports they turn'd. Immediately 
Was Samson as a public servant brought. 
In their state livery clad ; before him pipes 
And timbrels, on each side went armed guards, 
Both horse and foot, before him and behind 
Archers, and slingers, cataphracts and spears. 
At sight of him tlie people with a shout 
Rifted the air, clamoring their God with praise, 
Who' had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. 
He patient but undaunted where they led him. 
Came to the place, and what was set before him, 
Which without help of eye might be assay'd, 
To heave, pull, draw or break, he still perform'd 
All with incredible, stupendlous force. 
None daring to appear antagonist. 
At length for intermission sake they led him 
Between the pillars •, he his guide requested 
(For so from such as nearer stood we heard) 
As over-tir'd to let him lean awhile 
With both his arms on those two massy pillars, 
That to the arched roof gave main support. 



JOHN MILTON. 269 

He unsuspicious led him ; which when Samson 

Felt in his arras, with head a while inclin'd, 

And eyes fast fix'd he stood, as one who pray'd, 

Or some great matter in his mind revolv'd : 

At last with head ei-ect thus cry'd aloud, ^^ 

Hitherto, Lords, what your commands impos'd 

I have perform'd, as reason was, obeying, 

Not without wonder or delight beheld : 

Now of my own accord such other trial 

I moan to show you of my strength, yet greater ; ^'^ 

As with amaze shall strike all who behold. 

This utter'd, straining all bis nerves he bow'd, 

As with the force of winds and watei-s pent, 

When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars 

With horrible convulsion to and fro, ^'^ 

He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came and drew 

The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder 

Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, 

Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, ^ 

Tiieir choice nobility and flow'r, not only ^^ 

Of this but each Philistian city round 

Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. 

Samson with these immix'd, inevitably 

PuU'ddown the same destruction on himself; 

The vulgar only scap'd who stood without. ^^^ 

Chor. O dearly-bought revenge, yet glorious ! 
Living or dying thou hast fulfill'd 
The work for v/hich thou wast foretold 
To Israel, and now ly'st victorious 
Among the slain self-killed 
Not willingly, but tangled in the fold 
Of dire necessity, whose law in deatii conjoin'd 
Thee with thy slaughtered foes in number more 
Than all thy life had slain before. ^''"'^ 

Semichor. While their hearts were jocund and sublime, 
Drunk with idolatry, drunk with wine, 
And fat regorg'd of bulls and goats, 
Chaunting their idol, and preferring 
Before our livino; Dread who dwells 
In Silo his bright sanctuary ; 
Among them he a spi'rit of phrenzy sent, 



270 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Who hurt their minds, 

And urg'd them on with mad desire 

To call in haste for their destroyer ; 

They only set on sport and play 

Unweetingly importun'd 

Their own destruction to come speedy upon them. 

So fond are mortal men 

Fall'n into wrath divine, 

As their own ruin on themselves t'invite, 

Insensate left, or to sense reprobate, 

And with blindness internal struck. 

Semichor. But he though blind of sight, 
Despis'd and thought extinguish'd quite, 
With inward eyes illuminated, 
His fiery virtue rous'd 
From under ashes into sudden flame, 
And as an evening dragon came, 
Assailant on the perched roosts. 
And nests in order ran<r'd 
Of tame villatic fowl ; but as an eagle 
His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads. 
So virtue giv'n for lost, 
Depress'd, and overthrown, as seem'd, 
Like that self-begotten bird 
In the Arabian woods imbost. 
That no second knows nor third. 
And lay ere while a holocaust, 
From out her ashy womb now teem'd, 
Revives, reflourislros, then vigorous most 
When most unactive deem'd, 
And though her body die, her fame survives 
A secular bird ages of lives. 

Man. Come, come, no time for lamentation now. 
Nor much more cause ; Samson hath quit himself 
Like Samson, and heroically hath finish'd 
A life heroic, on his enemies 

Fully reveng'd, hath left them years of mourning. 
And lamentation to the sons of Caphtor 
Through all Pliilistiau bounds ; to Israel 
Honor hath left, and freedom, let but them 
Find courage to lay hold on this occasion ; 



JOHN MILTON. 271 

To' himself and father's house eternal fame ; 
And which is best and happiest yet, all this 
With God not parted from him, as was fear'd, ^^ 

But favoring, and assisting to the end. 
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail 
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, 
Dispraise, or blame, nothing but well and fair, 
And what may quiet us in a death so noble. ^^^ 

Let us go find the body where it lies 
Sok'd in his enemies blood, and from the stream 
With lavers pure and cleansing herbs wash off' 
Tlie clotted gore. I with what speed the while 
(Gaza is not in plight to say us nay) ^^ 

Will send for all my kindred, all my friends, 
To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend 
With silent obsequy and funeral train 
Home to his father's house : there will I build him 
A monument, and plant it round with shade ^''^ 

Of laurel ever green, and branching pahn. 
With all his trophies hung, and acts inroU'd 
In copious legend, or sweet lyric song. 
. Thither shall all the valiant youth resort, 
And from his uieniory inflame their breasts .l^^** 

To matchless valor, and adventures high : 
Tlie virgins also shall on feastful days 
Visit his tomb with flow'rs, only bewailing 
His lot unfortunate in nuptial choice, 
From whence captivity and loss of eyes. *^*^ 

Chor. All is best, though we oft doubt, 
What th' unsearchable dispose 

Of highest wisdom brings about, , 

And ever best found in the close. 

Oft he seems to hide his face, *'*• 

But unexpected!}' returns. 
And to his faithful champion hath in place 
Bore witness gloriously ; whence Gaza mourns 
And all that band them to resist 

His uncontrollable intent; ^^^ 

His servants he with new acquist 
Of true experience from this great event 
With peace and consolation hath dismist. 
And calm of mind all passion spent. 



272 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



NOTES ON SAMSON AGONISTES. 

Preface. Imitated, to be taken in the larger sense of represented. Imitation 
is properly of the real, the actual ; representation, of the ideal. — Physic mel- 
ancliolic The orthography of the last half of the seventeenth century, and first 
half of the eighteenth, had not attained perfect uniformity. The classes of words 
in regard to which there was most variance of usage were (1) words ending in jc, like 
physic, from Lat. or Gr. adjectives. This edition omits the k introduced at first 
simply to mark the guttural quality of the letter c preceding, § 21 (3). (2). Words 
ending in or from Lat. nouns in or. The French, through which language many of 
these words came into the English, inserted a m to show the long quantity or ac- 
cent on the preceding o. The English drawing back the accent to a prior syllable, 
there was no reason for continuing the m, and it was gradually omitted, but with 
still variant usage which has continued to this time. In this edition the u is gener- 
ally, not always, omitted. We find neighbours ver 180, harbour, ver. 489. At the pres- 
ent time it is generally omitted, but with persistent opposition on the part of some. 
The M is retained in the word Savior b}' a few in inconsistency with their accepted 
principle and practice otherwise, from some association of sanctity with the name. 
(3). Derivative words formed by suffixes to stems ending in an unaccented syllable 
■with a single consonant, as modeling from mode.l. In this edition the more prev- 
alent modern usage is to spell with a single consonant. (4). Words from the 
Latin compounded with the prepo.sition in. The French had changed the in to en. 
The prevailing rule now is to spell such words coming at an early stage into the lan- 
guage whether directly from the Latin or through the French, with en; and only 
words more recently derived directly from the Latin iu in. This edition very often 
spells in in where the practice now prefei-s ««, as intiiled in the Preface ; injoin^d 
ver. 6: indure, ver. 477. (5). Words which have the long quantity indicated by a 
vowel added to the stem, § 18 (1). Here the usage as to the vowel employed is variant 
and can hardly be brought under any philological principle. We find in this edition 
proclayne, ver. 435. (6). Words formed from stems in ( or d , followed by I, n, or r, 
and a connecting vowel, by adding a suffix beginning with a vowel. Such words 
have shown a tendency to drop this connecting vowel, as threatnins , hindrance. The 
omission of the e was once more prevalent than now, as in the best editions of the 
seventeenth century we find hindring, remembring, hardned ,brightned ,fatning ,oft- 
ner. The orthography in other words followed the orthoepy more closely than the 
etymology. Judgment was the common spelling. In the edition of Milton's prose 
works of 1697, we find even judg. The d had for a long time been in use to show the 
lingual quality of the g, § 21, (2), as alledge, even colledge. When e follows the gy 
the d is not necessary for this purpose. — Poets error. The apostrophe to mark 
the possessive case is omitted here, but is inserted in the plural form stanza''s bo- 
low, and in the Argument to mark the possessive in Snmson^s and Son's. It is also 
employed to mark the omission of a letter, as in ws'rf, produc'd, below. 

The Argument. Wliat tliey can, an adverbial clause modifying comfort. 
It is elliptical and may be filled out thus, in lehat degree they can ; or, more fully, 
in that degree in which they can comfort him. — Kaiisome, so spelled also in tv. 
483, 1460, 1471, etc. 

The Persons. Samson, the heroof the tragedy, was a nativeof Zorah,a town 
belonging to the tribe of Dan in the vicinity of the territory belonging to the tribe 
of Judah. Its site has been identified by modern travelers in the neighborhood of 
Zanoah, Bethshenie-sh, and Timnath, lying just under the brow of a sharp-pointed 
conical hill by a valley opening down to the plains of the Philistines. The story of 
his birth, his exploits, and his death is told in the Book of Judges, chapters xiii.-xvi. 



JOHN MILTON. 273 

— Dalila, or Delilah was of the Tillage of Sorek, the site of which is not ascer- 
tained, but was probably in the vicinity of the Philistine city of Gath. — Haraplia 
of GatU is not an historical character. 

Ver. 1. A little onward. An adverbial phrase limiting lend^ equivalent to 
for a little onivard space. — 2. Dark, modifying in respect of condition, = steps in 
darkness. This use of adjectives is less free now than formerly. — 3. Yonder, adv. 
used as adj., an inflected form of A.-S. geond and iond. Cf. Ger.jener; Gr. eKeivos, 
Ionic (ceii/os. It is allied to A.-S. g-ean, against, opposite. — 4. Wont, for wonerf, 
from A.-S. wun ian, to abide, to be accustomed, past tense, wvn ode. SeeC. T. 41. — 
6. Else, modifying TnJo?ji'rf = enjoined at times other than iv/ifn chance relieves. — 
13. Sagon, a diminutive from a Hebrew word signifying a fish. — 28. From 
some great act. The ascent of the augel in flames betokened his presence as 
god-like and as in return from an errand revealing some great benefit. — Both, my 
eyes put out. An adjective phrase (having both my eyes) modifying die relatively 
to the subject /. See" Ai-t of Composition," § 199. — 63. Suffices has for its .subject 
the clausal noun that follows — that to ine, etc. — 69. Beggery. The vowel before 
r is very unstable ; the old e which is the proper connecting vowel before the suflSx r 
is in this word now changed to a. Cf. liar. — I,et tliere l>e llgllt, in apposition 
with word, which being uttered was followed by what is here expressed as connected 
with the utterance by the conjunction and — light ivas over all. The expression is 
elliptical. It might be filled out thus : Thou great word — Let there be light, — which 
•word was uttered and light was over all. — 93. Slie all in every part, — the en- 
tire soul in every part, the whole soul active, feeling in the exercise or affection of 
every particular power or sensibility. — 127, 128. It would be better perhaps to 
make four verses of these two, dividing them at tnan, and lion. — 129. Imliat- 
tel'd, embattled, set in array. For itn, see § 37. For battePd, see F. Q., I. xi. 2; 
J. C, V. i. — 133. CJialybean. Chalybs was a river in Sp.ain, the waters of which 
were famous for hardening steel. Hence the noun xa\vi/( for steel. — 138. Spurned. 
The old meaning of this word, as from A.-S. sporn, a heel, is here evidently in the 
poet's mind. See J. C, II. i. The grammatical subject of spurned is foot. — 145. 
Kamatli-Lieclii, the scene of this famous exploit. Judges xv. 17. The name means 
raising ofthejnw-bone. — 147. Azza, Gaza. It is written Azzah, Deut. ii. 28; 
1 Kings i V. 24 ; Jer. xxv. 20 ; elsewhere Gaza. It is one of the earliest cities spoken 
of (see Gen. x. 19,) and is still a place of considerable size. Its site in the south- 
west of Palestine on the borders of the desert gave it importance both for commerce 
and for defense. The position was strong in a military sense ; hence its name the 
strong. — 148. Hill by Heljx-on, " hill that is before Hebron," Judges xvi. 3. The 
hill may have been at some distance from Hebron, which is some twenty miles from 
Gaza. Hebron was situated in a valley and vies with Gaza in antiquity and contin- 
uance. It was a well-known town when Abraham entered Canaan, and is now a 
city of five thousand inhabitants. — 150. X.ike ■wliom, like those whom. — 162. 
Invt^ard liglit, his spirit, reason, conscience from within shedding no cheerful 
ray. — 164. Since man on eartli. Since, although primitively a genitive form, 

— sithens from sith, a moving, a path, a period of time, — came readily to be used 
not only as an .adverb, but also as a preposition and a conjunction. This is the case 
with a number of words. See " Art of Composition," § 400, Ob.servation. It is here 
better regarded as a prep., having for its object the clausal noun man (appeared) on 
earth. Id. §322. Unparallel'd modifies mirror, which is a symbol, a figur.ative 
word referring to Samson's condition. — 166,107. Tlie rarer — by lioiv much. 
Tlie and by how much are correlative, being equivalent to Lat. eo, quo. See n. 
P. P. 62; and n. Mandeville, 14. The second comparative ^07/ifr, as the correlative 
of the first rarer is absorbed by a poetic license in the superlative lowest. The ex- 
pression is not strictly grammatical. — 181. Kshtaol and Zora. Eshtaol was a 

• 18 



274 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

town of Dan in the neighborhood of Zora or Zorah, the birthplace of Samson. — 
184 Swage, assuage, from Lat. suav is ; Old Fr. assouager. The simple verb suage 
without the intensive pietix af. assimilated from aiJ, was once in use, as Wycliffe, 
Acts xiv. 18, ininet/ds swagidtn the pujile, scarcely soothed the people. — 192. Ad- 
verse, accented on last syllable, as in \jai. advcr sus. — 207. Mean, ordinary. — 
212. Ne'er so ■wise, wise to a degree never so great. Ever so wise has a similar 
import, but is to be resolved differently, being equivalent to however wise. — 219. 
Tintuia. Timnath, a town lower than Zorah on the slope of the hill towards the 
sea; at the time of this story, in the possession of the Philistines. — 223. Inti- 
mate, inmost, impulse from within. — 229. Sorec, Sorek, a Philistine valley near 
Gaza, Judges xvi. 4. — 253. £ttiani, Etam, supposed to be in the broken country 
near Bethlehem, and also not far from Lehi and Ramath-Lehi. — 263. A trivial 
weapon, " a new jawbone of an ass," Judges xv. 15. — Sliccotli, etc. The story 
of the.se exploits by Gideon and Jephthah is in the Book of Judges. — 282. In- 
..grateful. The stem of this word is Latin, but the suffix is vernacular ; the prefix 
ought also to be vernacular, — ungrateful. — 333. Uncoutli, unknown, strange. See 
F. Q.,I. i. 15. — 339. Earst, formerly. See F. Q., I. ix. 29.-345. Duel'd, fought; 
a verb from the noun duel, L:it. duetlum, which became bellum, the original vowel » 
having become consonantized to the labial, and then supplanted the d. — 354. As, 
equivalent to the conj. that. — 357. The construction is: And wherefore did God 
adorn the granting of the request with such pomp as if it were a blessing. — 358. 
To tempt, etc. These phrases, to tempt, etc., and draio a scorpion''s tail, are mod- 
ifiers of gifts. The meaning is: Why are his gifts, first to tempt our prayers, then 
when given to draw a scorpion's tail, desirable ? — 373. Appoint, arraign. A rare 
use, but not etymologisally unwarrantable. Cf. Ital. appvntar alcuno, to blame any 
one, from Lat. ad and punctum, a point. — Disposition, disposing. See § 47. — 
376. Ought, aught. — 384. Hightli, a noun formed from a-dj. high. Cf. length, 
strength, width, etc. — 3S9. Spou.sal embraces, in apposition with prime of 
love. — Vitiated relates to w/to. — 390. Sent, .scent. — 391. Treason, in appo- 
sition with_;?r.s/ 6orK. — 403. Parlies, parleys ; Fr. paW«r, from Lat. /larafto/a, Gr. 
jrapa^oAi). — 405. "Weary'd. The y is written here instead of i according to rule. 
So also in moLgnify d , ver. 440, and d'nglorififd,ye,x. 442, and elsewhere we find how- 
ever wearied, ver. 1583. — 461. Contest, accented on last syllable like the Latin 
stem. — Twixt, a prep, from an old genitive form of A.-S. twega, two. The final t 
is euphonic, § 38. Itis usually compounded with the prep, of condition, be. — 477. 
Indiire, endure. See § 27. — 493. Hainous, heinous; Fr. haineux, from the 
same Teutonic stem as English hate. — 516. Wliat offer'd means, what means 
are offered. — 571. Numness, numbness. The b \unumh. Old Eng. nujw, is Eu- 
phonic, § 38. — Who caus'd a fountain, at Ramoth-Lehi, after the slaughter 
of the Philistines with the jaw-bone of an ass. — 604. How else, two adverbs for 
the adjunct iji some other way. — 624. Apprehensive, sensitive; an attribute 
belonging to the sensibility as well as to the intelligence or cognitive faculty. — 
627. Medicinal, accented on first syllable. — Forsook, forsaken. The form of 
the past part , by a change of the vowel of the stem, was once used in the case of 
many verbs in which it is now obsolete. Cf. shook, ver. 409 ; also past tense shore, 
ver. 537. — 637. Amain, mightily ; comp. of prefix aa.ndmain, from A.-S. maegen, 
main strength. —653. InroU'd, enrolled. See §37.-676. File, fly ; \.-S. Jiig 
a,-aAflenge. — 729. Address'd, made ready. See J. C.,I1X. i. — 745. Amends, 
a noun like news, pains, plural in form, but either singular orplural in signification. 
— 754 Chief, chiefly, adj. used as an adverb. See § 47 (2). It may be regarded as 
modifying some .such words as practited understood. — 776. Fndevor, old spelling 
of endeavor, the rain which is orthographic. § IS (1), Fr. en and devoir, duty. It 
has for its object to lessen, etc., and also the clausal noun that I may find tliy par- 



JOHN MILTON. 275 

don, etc. — 785. Parle, parley, confer. See parlies, ver. 403. — 796. Indear, en- 
dear. As in m«ang^Zerf, ver. 763, 1'n^rap, Ter. 855, injnarc, ver. 860, and elsewhere. 
This edition tises the A.-S. form in instead of the French form en of the prep. — 
820. Upbraid me mine. Milton frequently, as here, omits the preposition after 
a verb. Cf vv. 537, 638, who shore me all 7ny precious fleece. A transitiye verb 
may take a .second noun after it in divers objective relations : it may express a fac- 
titive object, as ver. 401: " she sought to make me traitor to myself; " or remote 
object, as ver. 107 : " I yielded and unlocked her all my heart ; " or specifying ob- 
ject, as vv. 874, 875: " it would have taught thee far other reasonings.'''' Gener- 
ally in such constructions we may suppose a preposition understood before one or 
other of the nouns ; in other words, the relation between the noun and the verb 
may be appropriately expressed by a preposition, although the writer may have 
known of no such preposition, and the language maj' at the period of his writing 
have supplied none. Give ■>ne drink is as grammatically correct as give to me 
drink. — 933. Toils, nets ; Fr. toiles, from Lat. tela. — 967. Go, infinitive object 
of the participle bul. — Contrary, accented on the middle syllable, as in its Latin 
primitive. — 1003. Injurious, here used in a sense which looks to moral quality 
rather than to effect in good or evil. Every moral act, and so every moral agent, 
and even things or attributes personified as moral agents, may be viewed in either of 
two respects, that of the direction in which they move, that is, as right or wrong, or 
that of the result or effect of the acting, that is, as beneficent or baleful. This word 
injurious is more commonly used now in the latter sense, as we apply it to food, 
to pursuits, etc., to which no proper moral property can properly be attributed. — 
1016. Much like thy riddle. The allusion is to Samson's riddle propounded 
to the Philistines at Timnath, which was to be explained in the seven days of the 
feast, but which they were unable to explain till on the seventh day they succeeded in 
worming out the explanation from Mm though his wife. Judges, chap. xiv. — 1019. 
Had, would have, conditional mood. ^ — 1038. Far within defensive arms, 
too near to be warded off by defensive armor. — 1048. The meaning is : Who com- 
bines that rarely found treasure in domestic prosperity. — Fraught, freight, what 
he bears. The previous image, w. 1070-1072. Cf Dan. fragle, Fr. fret, freight, 
cargo. — 1080. Og, King of Bashan, a remnant of the giant race of the Rephaim, 
conquered by the people of Israel in their exodus to Canaan. Dent. chap. ii. — 
Anak, a name applied to another branch of this giant race, the Rephaim, dwelling 
in the southern part of Canaan, having Hebron as their chief city, dispossessed 
and almost entirely destroyed by Joshua. Joshua xi. 21. Some of them lingered 
in the Philistine cities of Gaza, Gath, and Ashdod. Ihid. 22. — Emlms. another 
branch of the Rephaim , who seem to have occupied the country on the east of 
the Jordan, where Kiriathaim was situated. Genesis, xiv. 5. — 1087. Liisted, 
inclosed for combat. — 1120. Krigandine, a coat of mail; Fr. brigandine. — 
Habergeon, a defense for the neck ; A.-S. heals-beorga, from heals or hals, neck, 
and ieoj-g-rt, a defense ; OldVi. hauberc: the n is dim. affix. — 1121. Vant-bras, 
covering for the arm ; Fr. avant, fore, and bras, arm. — 1186. Those thirty men, 
etc. See Judges, xiv. 19,20.-1223. Enforce, force, ability. — 1231. Baal-ze- 
bub, in New Testament, Beelzebub, is Baal of the Fly, or the Fly-Baal, the form 
of Baal worshipped at Ekron — " the god of Ekron,' 1 Kings i. 2, 3, 16; perha"- 
so designated as supposed protector against a plague of tiies. Baal was the supren. ■■ 
divinity of the Pheuician tribes, worshiped under diverse forms and specific names 
in different districts. — 1242. Astaroth or Ashtaroth, and in the sing. Ashtoreth, 
Gr. Astarte, was the principal female, as Baal was the principal male divinity of the 
Phenicians. — 1266. It may with mine, etc. The prophetic spirit here breaks 
out in Samson in this presage of his death. — 1298. I^aboring, busying. — 1299. 
Working day. Cf. laboring day. J. C, I. i. — 1309. Remark, point out. — 



276 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

1367. Civil, as opposed to moral. — 1369. The sentence, the proposition. — 
1401. Because, in order that; used in a larger sense than now. Cf. Rom. 
iii. 21. — Doff, put off, coinp. of do and off. — 1426. No, in old sense of not. 

— 1431. The Angel of tliy birtli. See Judges xiii. 20. — 1436. Camp 
of Dan. See Judges xiii. 25. — • 1454. Ye. The inflection of the pronoun is 
here disregarded. — What hope, as to what hope; the specifying object often 
ocourring, in poetry, without the preposition. — 1475. Dread, n. dreaded object. 

— 1480. And is here equivalent to than that. It is here used as a conjunction of 
comparison, not of mere connection, as usually. — 1514. liuin, in this and follow- 
ing ver. in its primitive sense of falling. The word signifying the means or mode 
has come, in this as in other words, to denote the result. — 1556. Distract, dis- 
tracted, which has a double participial affix. Cf. clistraus'tt. F. Q., 1. ix. 38. — 
Dy'd. Cf. weary''d, ver. 405. — 1588. At once, etc. This phrase is to be re- 
garded grammatically as in apposition with cause. — 1600. Sort, rank, as preemi- 
nently or by distinction. — 1602. Banks, benches ; A.-S. banc and bene, a bench. 
See § 46 (2). — 1623. StnjiexiAiovis, for stvperidous, a, hardly allowable license 
even in poetry. — 1683. So fond, etc., so foolish are mortal men when fallen into 
wrath divine. — 1701. Imbost, hidden. See F. Q., I. ix. 29. — Sons of Caph- 
tor. — Caphtorim, living in Philistia, are mentioned Deut. ii. 23, as having come 
from Caphtor, which is supposed to have been in Egypt, or in its vicinity. — 1766. 
Acquist, acquisition, in the passive sense of what is acquired. Cf. Lat. acquisi- 
tum. — The drama closes in a kind of strophe by the chorus composed in alternate 
rhyme but in irregular rhythm. 

9. JOSEPH ADDISON, 1672-1719. 

Joseph Addison was born in the parish of Milston in Wiltshire, May 1 , 1672, and 
died at Holland House, Kensington, June 17, 1719. He was educated at Oxford, 
where he took his master's degree in 1693. Attaching himself to the party of the 
Whigs, he obtained a pension to enable him to travel. Among other literary fruits 
of this provision, are his " Remarks on Italy," and the familiar hymn, beginning, 
'' How are thy servants blest, Lord," which was written in gratitude for his escape 
from shipwreck during a storm off the coast of Genoa. He entered Parliament in 
1708, and continued a member till his death. In 1710 he began his contributions to 
the " Tatler," a weekly paper projected by his school-fellow and life-long friend. Sir 
Richard Steele. In 1711, having returned to London from Dublin, where he h.ad 
resided as secretary of Wharton, lord-lieutenant of Ireland, he joined Steele in es- 
tabUshing the " Spectator," in his contributions to which he won his great classic 
fame and celebrity. In 1716 he married the Countess of Warwick, and from this 
time he resided at Holland House, Kensington, till his death. His remains were 
deposited in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey. 

The selections are from the "Spectator," from the edition of Addison's works 
published by Jacob Tonson, 1730. 

THE SPECTATOR. 
No. 111. Saturday, Jvlij 7. 

Inter silvas Academi quasrere verum. — Hor. 

The course of my last Speculation led me insensibly into a 
subject upon which I always meditate with great delight, I mean 
the Immortality of the Soul. I was yesterday walking alone in 
one of my friend's woods, and lost my self in it very agreeably, 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 277 

as I was running over in my mind the several arguments that 
establish this great point, which is the basis of Morality, and 
the source of all the pleasing hopes and secret joys that can 
arise in the heart of a reasonable creature. I considered those 
several proofs drawn. 

First, From the nature of the Soul it self, and particularly 
its immateriality ; which though not absolutely necessary to the 
Eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to almost 
a demonstration. 

Secondhj, From its Passions and Sentiments, as particularly 
from its love of existence, its horror of annihilation, and its 
hopes of immortality, with that secret satisfaction which it finds 
in the practice of virtue, and that uneasiness which follows in 
it upon the commission of vice. 

Thirdly, From the nature of the supreme Being, whose jus- 
tice, goodness, wisdom and veracity are all concerned in this 
great point. 

But among these and other excellent arguments for the Im- 
mortality of the Soul, there is one drawn from the perpetual 
progress of the Soul to its perfection, without a possibility of 
ever arriving at it ; which is a hint that I do not remember to 
have seen opened and improved by others who have written on 
this subject, though it seems to me to carry a great weight with 
it. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the Soul, 
which is capable of such immense perfections, and of receiving 
new improvements to all Eternity, shall fall away into nothing 
almost as soon as it is created ? Are such abilities made for 
no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point of perfection that he 
can never pass : in a few years he has all the endowments he is 
capable of; and were he to live ten thousand more, would be 
the same thing he is at present. Were a human soul thus at 
a stand in her accomplishments, were her faculties to be full 
blown, and incapable of further enlargements, I could imagine 
it might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of 
annihilation. But can we believe a Thinking being that is in 
a perpetual progress of improvements, and travelling on from 
perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad into 
the works of its Creator, and made a few discoveries of his in- 
finite goodness, wisdom and power, must perish at her first set- 
ting out, and in the very beginning of her inquiries ? 

A man, considered in his present state, seems only sent into 



278 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

the world to propagate his kind. He provides himself with a 
successor, and immediately quits his post to make room for him. 

II seres 
Hseredem alterius, velut unda, supervenit uadam. 

He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to 
others. This is not surprizing to consider in animals, which 
are formed for our use, and can finish their business in a -short 
life. The silk-worm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs 
and dies. But a man can never have taken in his full measure 
of knowledge, has not time to subdue liis passions, establish his 
Soul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, 
before he is hurried off the stage. Would an infinitely wise 
Being make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose ? 
Can he delight in the production of such abortive Intelligences, 
such short-lived reasonable Beings ? Would he give us talents 
that ai-e not to be exerted ? Capacities that are never to be 
gratified ? How can we find that wisdom, which shines through 
all his works, in the formation of man, without looking on tliis 
world as only a nursery for the next, and believing that the 
several generations of rational creatures, which rise up and dis- 
appear in such quick successions, are only to receive theu" rudi- 
ments of existence here, and afterwards to be transplanted into 
a more fi-iendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to 
all eternity ? 

Tliere is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and triumphant 
consideration in reUgion, than this of the perpetual progress 
which the Soul makes towards the perfection of its nature, with- 
out ever arriving at a period in it. To look upon the Soul as 
going on from strength to strength, to consider that she is to 
shine for ever with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all 
eternity ; that she will be still adding virtue to virtue, and 
knowledge to knowledge ; carries in it something wonderfully 
agreeable to that ambition which is natural to the mind of man. 
Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see his 
Creation for ever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer 
to Him, by greater degrees of resemblance. 

Methinks this single consideration, of the progress of a finite 
Spirit to perfection, will be sufficient to extinguish all envy in 
inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. That Cherubim 
which now appears as a God to a human Soul, knows very well 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 279 

that the period will come about in Eternity, when the human 
Soul shall be as perfect as he himself now is : nay, when she 
shall look down upon that degree of perfection, as much as she 
now falls short of it. It is true, the higher nature still ad- 
vances, and by that means preserves his distance and superiority 
in the scale of Being ; but he knows, how high soever the sta- 
tion is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior 
Nature will at length mount up to it, and shine forth with the 
same degree of glory. 

Witli what astonishment and veneration may we look into 
our own Souls, where there are such hidden stores of Virtue 
and Knowledge, such inexhaustible sources of perfection ? We 
know not yet what we shall be, nor will it ever enter into the 
heart of man to conceive the glory that will always be in re- 
serve for him. The Soul considered with its Creator, is like 
one of those mathematical lines that may draw nearer to an- 
other to all eternity without a possibility of touching it ; and 
can there be a thought so transporting, as to consider our selves 
in these perpetual approaches to him, who is not only the stand- 
ard of perfection, but of happiness ! 

No. 106. Monday, July 2. 

nine tibi copia 
Manabit ad plenum benigno 
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu. — Hor. 

Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir 
Roger de CovERLYto pass away a month with him 
in the country, I last week accompanied him thither, and am 
settled with him for some time at his country-house, where I 
intend tb form several of my ensuing Speculations. Sir R o G- 
E R , who is very well acquainted with my humour, lets me rise 
and go to bed when I please, dine at his own table or in my 
chamber as I think fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding 
me be merry. When the Gentlemen of the country come to 
see him, he only shews me at a distance. As I have been walk- 
ing in his fields I have observed them stealing a sight of me 
over an hedge, and have heard the Knight desiring them not 
to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it 
consists of sober and staid persons ; for as the Knight is the 
best master in the world, he seldom changes his servants ; and 



280 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. ^ 

as he is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for 
leaving him : by this means his domesticks are all in years, and 
grow old with their master. You would take his Valet de Cham- 
bre for his brother, his Butler is grey-headed, hi? Groom is one 
of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his Coach-man 
has the looks of a Privy-Counsellor. You see the goodness of 
the Master even in the old house-dog, and in a grey pad that is 
kept in the stable with great care and tenderness out of regard 
to his 25ast services, though he has been useless for several years. 

I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy 
that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domesticks 
upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them 
could not refrain fi'om tears at the sight of their old Master ; 
every one of them pressed forward to do something for him, 
and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the 
same time the good old Knight, with a mixture of the father 
and the master of the family, tempered the inquiries after his 
own affairs with several kind questions relating to themselves. 
This humanity and good-nature engages every body to liim, so 
that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are 
in good humour, and none so much as the person whom he di- 
verts himself with ; on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays 
any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a stander-by to observe 
a secret concern in the looks of all his servants. 

My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his 
Butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of 
his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because 
they have often heard their master talk of me as of his particu- 
lar friend. 

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself 
in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever 
with Sir Roger, and has lived at his liouse in the nature of 
a Chaplain above thirty years. This Gentleman is a person of 
good sense and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging 
conversation : he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that 
he is very much in the old Kniglit's esteem ; so that he lives in 
the family rather as a relation than a dependant. 

I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir 
Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an hu- 
morist ; and that his Virtues, as well as Imperfections, are as it 
were tinged by a certain extravagance, which make them par- 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 281 

ticularly Ms, and distinguishes them from those of other men. 
This cast of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so 
it renders his conversation highly agreeable, and more delight- 
ful than the same degree of Sense and Virtue would appear in 
their common and ordinary colours. As I was walking with 
him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man whom 
I have just now mentioned ? and without staying for my answer 
told me, that he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and 
Greek at his own table ; for which reason, he desired a partic- 
ular friend of his at the University to find him out a Clergyman 
rather of plain sense than much learning, of a good aspect, a 
clear voice, a sociable temper, and, if possible, a man that un- 
derstood a little of Back-gammon. My friend, says Sir Roger, 
found me out this Gentleman, who, besides the endowments re- 
quired of him, is, they tell me, a good Scholar, though he does 
not show it. I have given him the parsonage of the parish ; 
and because I know his value, have settled upon him a good 
Annuity for life. If he out-lives me, he shall find that he was 
higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks lie is. He has now 
been with me thirty years ; and though he does not know I have 
taken notice of it, he has never in all that time asked any thing 
of me for himself, though he is every day solliciting me for 
something in behalf of one or other of my tenants his parish- 
ioners. There has not been a law-suit in the parish smce he 
has lived among them : If any dispute arises, they apply them- 
selves to him for the decision ; if they do not acquiesce in his 
judgment, which I think never happened above once, or twice 
at most, they appeal to me. At his first settling with me, I 
made him a present of all the good Sermons which have been 
printed in England, and only begged of him that every Sunday 
he would pronounce one of them in the Pulpit. Accordingly, 
he has digested them into such a series, that they follow one 
another naturally, and make a continued system of practical 
Divinity. 

As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the Gentleman 
we were talking of came up to us : and upon the Knight's ask- 
ing him who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night) 
told us the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning, and Dr. South 
in the afternoon. He then shewed us his list of Preachers for 
the whole year, where I saw with a great deal of pleasure Arch- 
bishop TiUotson, Bishop Saunderson, Doctor Barrow, Doctor Cal- 



282 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

amy, with several living Authors who have published Discourses 
of Practical Divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in 
the Pulpit, but I very much approved of my friend's insisting 
upon the qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice ; for 
I was so charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and deliv- 
ery, as well as the discourses he pronounced, that I think I 
never passed any time more to my satisfaction. A Sermon re- 
peated after this manner, is like the composition of a Poet in 
the mouth of a graceful Actor. 

I could heartily wish that more of our Country-clergy would 
follow this example ; and instead of wasting their spirits in la- 
borious compositions of their own, would endeavour after a hand- 
some elocution, and all those other talents that are proper to 
enforce what has been penned by greater Masters. This would 
not only be more easie to themselves, but more edifying to the 
people. 

No. 112. Monday, July 9. 

'A^acaT0V5 /j-ef Trptora Oeoiii:, t'ojau) d>9 SiajcetTCLL, 
Tt>a. — Pyth. 

I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday ; and 
think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human in- 
stitution, it would be the best method that could have been 
thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is 
certain the country-people would soon degenerate into a kind 
of Savages and Barbarians, were there not such frequent re- 
turns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet together 
with their best faces, and in theh* cleanliest habits, to converse 
with one another upon indiiferent subjects, hear their duties 
explained to them, and join together in adoration of the su- 
preme Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, 
not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, 
but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing in their most 
agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are apt to 
give them a figure in the eye of the village. A country-fellow 
distinguishes himself as much in the Church-yard, as a Citizen 
does upon the Change, the whole parish-politicks being generally 
discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell 
rings. 

My friend Sir Roger being a good church-man, has beau- 
tified the inside of his church Avith several texts of his own 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 283 

chusing : He has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and 
railed in the communion-table at his own expence. He has 
often told me, that at his coming to his estate he found his par- 
ishioners very irregular ; and that in order to make them kneel 
and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock 
and a common-prayer-book ; and at the same time employed an 
itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country for that 
purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms ; 
upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed 
outdo most of the country churches that I have ever heard. 

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congTCgation, he 
keeps them in very good order, and will suffer no one to sleep 
in it besides himself; for if by chance he has been surprized 
into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands 
up and looks alaout him, and if he sees any body else nodding, 
either wakes them himself, or sends his servant to them. Sev- 
eral other of the old Knight's particularities break out upon 
these occasions : Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse 
in the singing-psalms, half a minute after the rest of the con- 
gregation have done with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased 
with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces Avien three or 
four times to the same prayer ; and sometimes stands up when 
every body else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, 
or see if any of his Tenants are missing. 

I was yesterday very much surprized to hear my old friend, 
in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Mattlieivs to 
mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. 
Tliis John Matthews it seems is remarkable for being an idle fel- 
low, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. 
This authority of the Knight, though exerted in that odd man- 
ner which accompanies him in all the circumstances of life, has 
a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough 
to see any thing ridiculous in his behaviour; besides that the 
general good sense and worthiness of his character, make his 
friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set 
off than blemish his good qualities. 

As soon as the sermon is finished, no body presumes to stir 
till Sir R o G E R is gone out of the church. The Knight walks 
down from his seat in the chancel between a double row of his 
tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side ; and every now 
and then enquires how such an one's wife, or mother, or son, or 



284 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. *- 

father do, whom he does not see at church ; which is under- 
stood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent. 

The Chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising- 
day, when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that an- 
swers well, he has ordered a bible to be given him next day for 
his encouragement ; and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch 
of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has likewise added five 
pounds a. year to the Clerk's place ; and that he may encourage 
the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the church- 
service, has promised upon the death of the present Incumbent, 
who is very old, to bestow it according to merit. 

The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his Chap- 
lain, and their mutual-njoncurrence in doing good, is the more 
remarkable, because the very next village is famous for the 
differences and contentions that rise between the Parson and 
the 'Squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The Parson 
is always preaching at the 'Squire, and the 'Squire to be re- 
venged on the Parson, never conies to church. The 'Squire has 
made all his tenants atheists, and tithe-stealers ; while the Par- 
son instructs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, 
and insinuates to them in almost every sermon, that he is a 
better man than his Patron. In short, matters are come to 
such an extremity, that the 'Squire has not said his prayers 
either in publick or private this half year ; and that the Parson 
threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for 
him in the face of the whole congregation. 

Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are 
very fatal to the ordinary people ; who are so used to be dazled 
with riches, that they pay as much deference to the imderstand- 
ing of a man of an estate, as of a man of learning ; and are 
very hardly brought to regard any truth, how important soever 
it may be, that is preached to them, when they know there are 
several men of five hundred a year who do not believe it. 

No. 120. Wednesday, Juhj 18 

Equidem credo, quia sit diviaitus illis 
Ingenium. — Virg. 

My friend Sir Roger is very often merry with me, upon 
my passing so much of my time among his poultry : he has 
caught me twice or thrice looking after a bml's nest, and some- 
times sitting an hour or two together near an hen and chicken. 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 285 

He tells me he believes I am personally acquainted with every 
fowl about his house : calls such a particular cock my favorite, 
and frequently complains that his ducks and geese have more 
of my company than himself. 

I must confess I am infinitely delighted with those specula- 
tions of nature which are to be made in a country-life ; and as 
my reading has very much lain among books of natural history, 
I cannot forbear recollecting upon tliis occasion the several re- 
marks which I have met with in Authors, and comparing them 
with what falls under my own observation ; the arguments for 
Providence drawn from the natural history of animals being in 
my opinion demonstrative. 

The make of every kind of animal is different from that of 
any other kind ; and yet there is not the least turn in the mus- 
cles or twist in the fibres of any one, which does not render 
them more proper for that particular animal's way of life than 
any other cast or texture of them would have been. 

The most violent appetites in all creatures are Lust and 
Hunger : the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate 
then- kind ; the latter, to preserve themselves. 

It is astonishing to consider the different degrees of care that 
descend fi-om the parent to the young, so far as is absolutely 
necessary for the leaving a posterity. Some creatures cast 
their eggs as chance directs them, and think of them no far- 
ther, as insects and several kinds of fish : others of a nicer 
frame, find out proper beds to deposite them in, and there leave 
them, as the Serpent, the Crocodile, and Ostrich : others hatch 
their eggs and tend the birth, till it is able to shift for itself. 

What can we call the principle which directs every different 
kind of bird to observe a particular plan in the structure of its 
nest, and directs all of the same species to work after the same 
model ? It cannot be Imitation ; for though you hatch a Crow 
under a Hen, and never let it see any of the works of its own 
kind, the nest it makes shall be the same, to the laying of a 
stick, with all the other nests of the same species. It cannot be 
Reason ; for were animals indued with it to as great a degree 
as man, their buildings would be as ditlerent as ours, according 
to the different conveniences that they would propose to them- 
selves. 

Is it not remarkable, that the same temper of weather which 
raises this genial warmth in animals, should cover the trees 



286 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

with leaves, and the fields with grass, for their security and 
concealment, and produce such infinite swarms of insects for 
the support and sustenance of their respective broods ? 

Is it not wonderful, that the love of the parent should be so 
violent while it lasts ; and that it should last no longer than is 
necessary for the preservation of the young ? 

The violence of this natural love is verified by a very barbar- 
ous experiment ; which I shall quote at length as I find it in 
an excellent Author, and hope my Readers will pardon the 
mentioning such an instance of cruelty, because there is noth- 
ing can so effectually shew the strength of that principle in 
animals, of which I am here speaking. " A person who was 
well skilled in dissections opened a bitch, and as she lay in the 
most exquisite tortures, offered her one of her young puppies, 
which she immediately fell a licking ; and for the tune seemed 
insensible of her own pain : on the removal, she kept her eyes 
fixed on it, and began a wailing sort of cry, which seemed 
rather to proceed fi-om the loss of her young one, than the 
sense of her own torments." 

But notwithstanding this natural love in brutes is much more 
violent and intense than in rational creatures. Providence has 
taken care that it should be no longer troublesome to the parent 
than it is useful to the young ; for so soon as the wants of the 
latter cease, the mother withdraws her fondness, and leaves 
them to provide for themselves ; and what is a very remarkable 
circumstance in this part of instinct, we find that the love of 
the parent may be lengthened out beyond its usual tune, if the 
preservation of the species requires it ; as we may see in birds 
that drive away their young as soon as they are able to get 
their liveliliood, but continue to feed them if they are tied to 
the nest, or confined within a cage or by any other means ap- 
pear to be out of a condition of supplying their own necessities. 

This natural love is not observed in animals to ascend from 
the young to the parent, which is not at all necessary for the 
continuance of the species ; nor indeed in reasonable creatures 
does it rise in any proportion, as it spreads it self downwards ; 
for in aU family-affection, we find protection granted and favours 
bestowed, are greater motives to love and tenderness, than 
safety, benefits, or life received. 

One would wonder to hear sceptical men disputing for the 
Reason of animals, and telling us it is only our pride and prej- 
udices that will not allow them the use of that faculty. 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 287 

Reason shews it self in all occurrences of life ; whereas the 
brute makes no discovery of such a talent, but in what imme- 
diately regards his own preservation, or the continuance of his 
species. Animals in their generation are wiser than the sons 
of men ; but their wisdom is confined to a few particulars, and 
lies in a very narrow compass. Take a brute out of his instinct, 
and you find him wholly deprived of understanding. To use 
an instance that comes often under observation. 

With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest in 
places unfrequented, and free from noise and disturbance ? 
When she has laid her eggs in such a manner that she can 
cover them, what care does she take in turning them frequently, 
that all parts may partake of the vital warmth ? When she 
leaves them to provide for her necessary sustenance, how punc- 
tually does she return before they have time to cool, and be- 
come incapable of producing an animal ? In the summer you 
see her giving her self greater fi-eedoms, and quitting her care 
for above two hours together ; but in winter, when the rigour 
of the season would chill the principles of life, and destroy the 
young one, she grows more assiduous in her attendance, and 
stays away but half the time. When the birth approaches, 
with how much nicety and attention does she help the chick to 
break its prison ? Not to take notice of her covering it fi'om 
the injm'ies of the weather, providing it proper nourishment, 
and teaching it to help it self; nor to mention her forsaking 
the nest, if after the usual time of reckoning the young one 
does not make its appearance. A Chymical operation could 
not be followed with greater art or diligence, than is seen in 
the hatching of a chick ; though there are many other birds 
that shew an infinitely greater sagacity in aU the forementioned 
particulars. 

But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming in- 
genuity (which is indeed absolutely necessary for the propaga- 
tion of the species) considered in other respects, is without the 
least glimmerings of thought or common sense. She mistakes 
a jiiece of chalk for an egg, and sits upon it in the same man- 
ner : she is insensible of an increase or diminution in the num- 
ber of those she lays : she does not distinguish between her 
own and those of another species ; and when the birth appears 
of never so different a bird, wiU cherish it for her own. In all 
these circumstances, which do not carry an uiimediate regard 
to the subsistence of her self or her species, she is a very idiot. 



288 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

There is not in my opinion any thing more mysterious in na- 
ture than this Instinct in Animals, wliich thus rises above Reason, 
and falls infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted for by 
any properties in matter, and at the same tune works after so 
odd a manner, that one cannot think it the faculty of an intel- 
lectual Being. For my own part, I look upon it as upon the 
principle of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be exjjlained 
by any known qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor 
from any laws of mechanism, but, according to the best notions 
of the greatest Philosojahers, is an immediate impression from 
the first mover, and the Divine energy acting in the creatures. 

No. 122. Friday, July 20. 

Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est. --Fubl. Syr. Frag. 

A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his 
own heart ; his next, to escape the censures of the world ; if 
the last interferes with the former, it ought to be entirely neg- 
lected ; but otherwise there cannot be a greater satisfaction to 
an honest mind, than to see those approbations which it gives 
it self seconded by the applauses of the publick : A man is 
more sure of his conduct, when the verdict which he passes 
upon his own behaviour is thus warranted and confirmed by the 
opinion of all that know him. 

My worthy friend Sir Roger is one of those who is not 
only at peace within himself, but beloved and esteemed by all 
about liim. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal be- 
nevolence to mankind, in the returns of affection and good-will, 
which are paid him by every one who lives within his neighbor- 
hood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that 
general respect which is shewn to the good old Knight. He 
would needs carry Will Wimble and my self with him to the 
coiuitry-assizes : as we were upon the road. Will Wiinhle joined 
a couple of plain men who rid before us, and conversed with 
them for some time ; during which my friend Sir R o G E K 
acquainted me with their characters. 

The fii'st of them, says he, that has a spaniel by his side, is 
a Yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year, an honest man : 
he is just within the game act, and qualified to kill an hare or 
a pheasant : He knocks down a dinner with his gun twice or 
thi-ice a week ; and by that means lives much cheaper than 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 289 

those who have not so good an estate as himself. lie would be 
a good neighbor if he did not destroy so many partridges : in 
short, he is a very sensible man ; shoots flying ; and has been 
several times Fore-man of the Petty-Jury. 

The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy, a fellow 
famous for taking the laio of every body. There is not one in 
the town where he lives that he has not sued at a Quarter-ses- 
sions. The rogue had once the impudence to go to law with 
the Widoiv. His head is full of costs, damages, and eject- 
ments : he plagued a couple of honest Gentlemen so long for 
a trespass in breaking one of his hedges, till he was forced to 
sell the ground it enclosed to defray the charges of the prosecu- 
tion : his father left hun fourscore pounds a year ; but he has 
cast and been cast so often, that he is not now worth thirty. 
I suppose he is going upon the old business of the willow-tree. 

As Sir Roger was giving me this account of Tom Touchy, 
Will Wimble and his two companions stopped till we came up 
to them. After having paid their respects to Su* Roger, 
Will told him that Mr. Touchy and he must appeal to him upon 
a dispute that arose between them. Will it seems had been 
giving his fellow-travellers an account of his angling one day in 
such a hole ; when Tom Touchy, instead of hearing out his 
story, told him that Mr. such an one, if he pleased, might take 
the law of him for fishing in that part of the river. My friend 
Sir Roger heard them both, upon a round trot ; and after 
having paused some time told them, with the air of a man who 
would not give his judgement rashly, that much might he said on 
both sides. They were neither of them dissatisfied with the 
I^ight's determination, because neither of them found himself 
in the wrong by it : upon which we made the best of our way 
to the Assizes. 

The Court was sat before Sir Roger came, but notwith- 
standing all the Justices had taken their seats upon the Bench, 
they made room for the old Knight at the head of them ; who 
for his reputation in the country took occasion to whisper in 
the Judge's ear, that he was glad his Lordship had met with so 
much good weather in his circuit. I was listening to the proceed- 
ings of the Court with much attention, and infinitely j^leased 
with that great appearance and solemnity which so properly 
accompanies such a publick administration of our laws ; when, 
after about an hour's sitting, I observed to my great surprize, 
19 



290 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

in the midst of a tryal, that my friend Sir Roger was get- 
ting up to speak. I was in some pain for him, till I found he 
had acquitted himself of two or three sentences, with a look of 
much business and great mtrepidity. 

Upon his first rising the Court was hushed, and a general 
whisper ran among the country-people that Su' Roger loas 
up. The speech he made was so little to the purpose, that I 
shall not trouble my readers with an account of it : and I be- 
lieve was not so much designed by the Knight himself to inform 
the Court, as to give him a figure in my eye, and keep up his 
credit in the country. 

I was highly delighted, when the Com-t rose, to see the Gen- 
tlemen of the country gathering about my old friend, and striv- 
ing who should compliment him most ; at the same time that 
the ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, not a little 
admiring his courage, that was not afraid to speak to the 
Judge. 

In our return home we met with a very odd accident^ which 
I cannot forbear relating, because it shews how desirous all who 
know Sir Roger are of giving him marks of then- esteem. 
When we were arrived upon the verge of his estate, we stopjied 
at a little Inn to rest our selves and our horses. The man of 
the house had it seems been formerly a servant in the Knight's 
family ; and to do honour to his old master, had some time 
since, unknown to Sir Roger, put him up in a sign-post be- 
fore the door ; so that the Knight's head had hung out upon the 
road about a week before he himself knew any thing of the 
matter. As soon as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, find- 
ing that his servant's indiscretion proceeded only fi-om affection 
and good wiU, he only told him that he had made him too 
high a compliment ; and when the fellow seemed to think that 
could hardly be, added with a more decisive look, that it was 
too great an honour for any man under a Duke ; but told him at 
the same time that it might be altered with a very few touches, 
and that he himself would be at the charge of it. Accordingly 
they got a painter by the Knight's directions to add a pair of 
whiskers to the face, and by a little aggravation of the features 
to change it into the Saracen's head. I should not have known 
this story, had not the Inn-keeper upon Sir Roger's alight- 
ing told him in iny hearing, That his Honour's head was brought 
back last night with the alterations that he had ordered to be 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 291 

made in it. Upon this my friend with his usual chearfulness 
related the particulars above-mentioned, and ordered the head 
to be brought into the room. I could not forbear discovering 
greater expressions of mirth than ordinary upon the appearance 
of this monstrous face, under which, notwithstanding it was 
made to frown and stare in a most extraordinary manner, I 
could still discover a distant resemblance of my old friend. 
Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him 
truly if I thought it possible for people to know him in that 
disguise. I at first kept my usual silence ; but upon the Knight's 
conjuring me to tell him whether it was not still more like him- 
self than a Saracen, I composed my countenance in the best 
manner I could, and replied, That much might be said on both 
sides. 

These several adventures, with the Knight's behaviour in 
them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any of 
my travels. 

No. 102. Wednesday, June 27. 

Lusus animo debent aliquando dari 
Ad cogitandum melior ut redeat sibi. — Phced. 

I DO not know whether to call the following Letter a satjT 
upon Coquettes, or a representation of their several fantastical 
accomplishments, or what other title to give it ; but as it is I 
shall communicate it to the publick. It wUl sufficiently explain 
its own intentions, so that I shall give it my Reader at length 
without either Preface or Postscript. 

Mr. Spectator, 
" Women are ai-med with Fans as men with Swords, and 
sometimes do more execution with them. To the end therefore 
that Ladies may be entire Mistresses of the weapon which 
they bear, I have erected an Academy for the training up of 
young women in the Exercise of the Fan, according to the most 
fashionable airs and motions that are now practised at Court. 
The Ladies who carry Fans under me are drawn up twice a day 
in my great HaU, where they are instructed in the use of their 
Arms, and exercised by the following words of command : 
Handle your Fans, Unfurl your Fans, Discharge your Fans, 
Ground your Fans, Recover your Fans, Flutter your Fans. By 
the right observation of these few plain words of command, a 



292 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

woman of a tolerable genius who will apply her self diligently to 
her exercise for the space of one half year, shall be able to 
give her fan all the graces that can possibly enter into that 
little modish machine. 

" But to the end that my Readers may form to themselves 
a right notion of this Exercise, I beg leave to explain it to them 
in aU its parts. When my female Regiment is drawn up in 
array, with every one her weapon in her hand, upon my giving 
the word to handle their Fans, each of them shakes her Fan at 
me with a smile, then gives her right-hand woman a tap upon 
the shoulder, then presses her Ups with the extremity of her 
Fan, then lets her anns fall in an easy motion, and stands in a 
readiness to receive the next word of Command. All this is 
done with a close Fan, and is generally learned in the first 
week. 

" The next motion is that of unfurling the Fan, in which are 
comprehended several little flurts and vibrations, as also gradual 
and deliberate openings, with many voluntary fallings asunder 
in the Fan it self, that are seldom learned under a month's 
practice. This part of the Exercise pleases the spectators 
more than any other, as it discovers on a sudden an infinite 
number of Cujjids, Garlands, Altars, Birds, Beasts, Rain-bows, 
and the like agreeable figures, that display themselves to view, 
whQst every one in the Regiment holds a picture in her hand. 

" Upon my giving the word to discharge their Fans, they give 
one general crack that may be heard at a considerable distance 
when the wind sits fair. This is one of the most difficult parts 
of the Exercise ; but I have several Ladies with me, who at 
their first entrance could not give a pop loud enough to be 
heard at the further end of a room, who can now discharge a 
Fan in such a manner, that it shall make a report like a pocket- 
pistol. I have also taken care (in order to hinder young women 
firom letting off their Fans in wrong jjlaces or unsuitable occa- 
sions) to show upon what subject the crack of a Fan may come 
in j^roperly : I have likewise invented a Fan, with which a girl 
of sixteen, by the help of a little wind which is enclosed about 
one of the largest sticks, can make as loud a crack as a woman 
of fifty with an ordinary Fan. 

" "\'\1ien the Fans are thus discharged, the word of command 
in course is to ground their Fans. This teaches a Lady to quit 
her Fan gracefully when she throws it aside in order to take 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 293 

up a pack of cai-ds, adjust a curl of hair, replace a falling pin, 
or apply her self to any other matter of importance. This part 
of the Exercise, as it only consists in tossing a Fan with an air 
upon a long table (which stands by for that purpose) may be 
learned in two days time as weU as in a twelvemonth. 

" When my female regiment is thus disai'med, I generally let 
them walk about the room for some time ; when on a sudden 
(like ladies that look upon their watches after a long visit) they 
all of them hasten to their arms, catch them up in a hurry, and 
place themselves in their proper stations upon my calling out 
recover your Fans. This part of the Exercise is not difficult, 
provided a woman applies her thoughts to it. 

" The fluttering of the Fan is the last, and indeed the master- 
piece of the whole Exerch^e ; but if a Lady does not mis-spend 
her time, she may make herself mistress of it in three montlis. 
I generally lay aside the dog-days and the hot time of the sum- 
mer for the teaching this part of the Exercise, for as soon as 
ever I pronounce flutter your Fans, the place is filled with so 
many zephyrs and gentle breezes as are very refreshing in that 
season of the year, though they might be dangerous to Ladies 
of a tender constitution in any other. 

" There is an infinite variety of motions to be made use of in 
the flutter of a Fan : there is the angry Flutter, the modest 
Flutter, the timorous Flutter, the confused Flutter, the merry 
Flutter, and the amorous Flutter. Not to be tedious, there is 
scarce any emotion in the mind which does not produce a suit- 
able agitation in the Fan ; insomuch, that if I only see the Fan 
of a disciplined Lady, I know very well whether she laughs, 
frowns, or blushes. I have seen a Fan so very angry, that it 
would have been dangerous for the absent lover who provoked 
it to have come within the wind of it : and at other times so 
very languishing, that I have been glad for the Lady's sake the 
lover was at a sufficient distance from it. I need not add, 
that a Fan is either a Prude or Coquette, according to the na- 
ture of the person who bears it. To conclude my letter, I must 
acquaint you that I have from my own observations compiled 
a little Treatise for the use of my scholars, intitled. The pas- 
sions of the Fan ; which I will communicate to you, if you think 
it may be of use to the publick. I shall have a general review 
on Thursday next ; to which you shall be very welcome if you 
will honour it with your presence. 

" I am, &c. 



294 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

P. S. " I teach young Gentlemen the whole art of gallanting 
a Fan. 

N. B. " I have several Uttle plain Fans made for this use, to 
avoid expence." 

No. 565. Friday, July 9. 

Deum namque ire per omnes 
Terrasque, tractusciue maris, coelumque profundum. — Virg. 

I WAS yesterday about sun-set walking in the open fields, 
'till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first amused my self 
with all the richness and variety of colours, which appeared in 
the western parts of Heaven : in proportion as they faded away 
and went out, several stars and planets appeared one after an- 
other, 'tiU the whole firmament was in a glow. The blueness 
of the JEtJie?- was exceedingly heightened and enlivened by the 
season of the year, and by^the rays of all those luminaries that 
passed tln-ough it. The Galaxy appeared in its most beautiful 
white. To compleat the scene, the full Moon rose at length in 
that clouded Majesty, which Milton takes notice of, and opened 
to the eye a new picture of nature, which was more finely 
shaded, and disposed among softer Hghts, than that which the 
Sun had before discovered to us. 

As I was siu-veying the Moon wallving in her brightness, and 
taking her progress among the constellations, a thought rose in 
me which I beUeve very often perjilexes and disturbs men of 
serious and contemplative natures. David himself fell into it, 
in that reflection, Whe7i I consider the Heavens the ivork of thy 
fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained; what is 
man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou 
regardest him ! In the same manner, when I considered that in- 
finite host of Stars, or, to speak more philosopliically, of Suns, 
which were then sliining upon me, with those innumerable sets 
of planets or worlds, which were moving round their respective 
suns ; when I still enlarged the idea, and supposed another 
heaven of suns and worlds rising still above this which we dis- 
covered, and these still enlightened by a superior firmament of 
Luminaries, which are planted at so great a distance that they 
may appear to the inhabitants of the former as the stars do to 
us ; in short, whilst I pursued this thought, I could not but re- 
flect on that little insignificant figure which I my self bore amidst 
the immensity of God's works. 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 295 

Were the Sun, wMcli enlightens this part of the creation, 
■with all the host of planetary worlds that move about him, ut- 
terly extinguished and annihilated, they would not be missed 
more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. The space they 
possess is so exceedingly little, in comparison of the whole, that 
it would scarce make a Blank in the creation. The Chasm 
would be imperceptible to an eye, that could take in the whole 
compass of nature, and pass from one end of the creation to the 
other, as it is possible there may be such a sense in our selves 
hereafter, or in creatures which are at present more exalted 
than our selves. We see many stars by the help of glasses, 
which we do not discover with our naked eyes ; and the finer 
our Telescopes are, the more still are our discoveries. Huygen- 
ius carries this thought so far, that he does not think it impossi- 
ble there may be stars whose light is not yet travelled down to 
us, since their first creation. There is no question but the Uni- 
verse has certain bounds set to it ; but when we consider that it 
is the work of infinite power, prompted by infinite goodness, with 
an infinite space to exert it self in, how can our imagination set 
any bounds to it ? 

To return therefore to my fiirst thought, I could not but look 
upon my self with secret horror, as a Being that was not worth 
the smallest regard of one who had so great a work under his 
care and superintendency. I was afraid of being overlooked 
amidst the immensity of nature, and lost among that infinite 
variety of creatures, which in all probability swarm through all 
these immeasurable regions of matter. 

In order to recover my self from this mortifying thought, I 
considered that it took its rise from those narrow conceptions, 
which we are apt to entertain of the Divine Nature. We our 
selves cannot attend to many different objects at the same time. 
If we are careful to insjiect some things, we must of com-se neg- 
lect others. This imperfection which we observe in our selves, 
is an imperfection that cleaves in some degree to creatures of 
the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is. Beings of 
finite and limited natures. The presence of every created Be- 
ing is confined to a certain measure of space, and consequently 
his observation is stinted to a certain number of objects. The 
Sphere in which we move, and act, and understand, is of a 
wider circumference to one creature than another, according as 
we rise one above another in the scale of existence. But the 



296 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

widest of these our spheres has its circumference. When there- 
fore we reflect on the Divine Nature, we are so used and accus- 
tomed to this imperfection in our selves, that we cannot forbear in 
some measure ascribing it to him, in whom there is no shadow 
of imperfection. Our reason indeed assures us, that his attri- 
butes are infinite, but the poorness of our conception is such, 
that it cannot forbear setting bounds to every tiling it contem- 
plates, 'till our reason comes again to our succour, and throws 
down all those little prejudices which rise in us unawares, and 
are natural to the mind of man. 

We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melancholy thought, 
of our being overlooked by our Maker in the multiplicity of his 
works, and the infinity of those objects among which he seems 
to be incessantly employed, if we consider, in the first place, 
that he is Omnipresent ; and, in the second, tliat he is Om- 
niscient. 

If we consider him in his Omnipresence : his Being passes 
through, actuates and supports the whole frame of Nature. His 
Creation, and every part of it, is full of him. There is noth- 
ing he has made that is either so distant, so little, or so iacon- 
siderable, which he does not essentially inhabit. His substance 
is within the substance of every Being, whether material, or im- 
material, and as intimately present to it, as that Being is to itself. 
It would be an imperfection in him, were he able to remove out 
of one place into another, or to withdraw himself from any thing 
he has created, or from any part of that space which is diffused 
and spread abroad to infinity. In short, to speak of him in the 
language of the old Philosopher, he is a Being whose centre is 
every where, and his circumference no where. 

In the second place, he is Omniscient as well as Omnipresent. 
His Omniscience indeed necessarily and naturally flows from his 
Omnipresence ; he cannot but be conscious of every motion that 
arises in the whole material world, which he thus essentially per- 
vades, and of every thought that is stirring in the intellectual 
world, to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Sev- 
eral Morahsts have considered the creation as the Temple of 
God, which he has buflt with liis own hands, and which is filled 
with his presence. Others have considered infinite space as the 
receptacle, or rather the habitation of the Almighty : but the 
noblest and most exalted way of considering this infinite space 
is that of Su' Isaac Newton, who calls it the Senso7-iuin of the 



JOSEPH ADDISON. • 297 

Godhead. Brutes and men have their Sensoriola, or little Sen- 
soriums, by which they apprehend the presence, and perceive 
the actions of a few objects that lie contiguous to them. Their 
knowledge and observation tm-ns within a very narrow circle. 
But as God Almighty cannot but perceive and know every thing 
in which he resides, infinite space gives room to infinite knowl- 
edge, and is, as it were, an organ to Omniscience. 

Were the Soul separate from the body, and with one glance 
of thought should start beyond the bounds of the Creation, should 
it for millions of years continue its progress through infinite space 
with the same activity, it would still find it self within the em- 
brace of its Creator, and encompassed round with the immensity 
of the Godhead. Whilst we are in the body he is not less pres- 
ent with us, because he is concealed fi'om us. that I knew 
where I might find him ! says Job. Behold I go forward., hut he is 
not there ; and backward, but I cannot perceive him. On the left 
hand, where he does loork, but I cannot behold him : he Jiideth him- 
self on the right hand, that I cannot see him. In short, reason as 
well as revelation assures us, that he cannot be absent fi-om us, 
notwithstanding he is undiscovered by us. 

In this consideration of God Almighty's Omnipresence and 
Omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He cannot 
but regard every thing that has Being, especially such of his 
creatures who fear they are not regarded by him. He is privy 
to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart in particular, 
which is apt to trouble them on this occasion : for as it is im- 
possible he should overlook any of his creatures, so we may be 
confident that he regards, with an eye of mercy, those who en- 
deavor to recommend themselves to his notice, and in an un- 
feigned humiUty of heart think themselves unworthy that he 
should be mindful of them. 

NOTES ON SELECTIONS FROM ADDISON. 

Instead of comments on particular words and phrases, notices of more general 
characteristics of expression and thought are here given as more promising of inter- 
est and benefit. And first, the orthography of Addison will be remarked as unsettled 
and irregular in respect to divers classes of words. The h was not omitted after c 
final unaccented, as we find publick, domesticks, politicks. The u was still retained 
in many words from the Latin ending in or, as colour, humour, behaviour, endeavour, 
favour, neighbour, honour; it was however omitted in others, as superior, inferior, 
humorist, author. The e was sometimes retained, sometimes omitted in judgment. 
The distinct uses of the i and y were not fully settled, as Instanced in easie, tryal, 
satyr (satire). Use was not settled in all words as to whether the Latin prefix in, or 
French en, should be preferred, as enquiries, enclose. The sibilant s and its cognate 



298 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

phthoDgal z was rarioiisly represented, as in expence, practised, surprize. By the 
insertion of what vowel the quantity of an integrant vowel in a stem should be in- 
dicated as long, was not settled, as we find chearfulnes , compleat. Other orthogra- 
phies will attract notice, as centre ; fibre ; shews ; flurts ; chusing ; traveller ; deposite ; 
stopped; dependant: dazle ; Hill. Generally it will be apparent that the orthogra- 
phy of our language, while it had made great progress towards a more entire con- 
formity to rule, has also made great progress since, although not yet reaching the 
goal of perfection. One general law which has governed and is still governing this 
progress is this ; that where orthographic expedients have been resorted to in or- 
der to indicate the sound more perfectly than would he in the normal mode of one 
elemental sound by one written character, as the insertion of the k after the final c, 
the u to show the long sound of o in honor, of e after g, and the like, these expedi- 
ents have been disused when there ceased to be occasion for them. Another law of 
progress still governing is : that words of unsettled orthography be conformed to the 
spelling of other words of the same class which are settled. 

It is proper to notice In this connection that the use of capitals was more frequent 
than good use now allows, and at the same time very irregular. 

2. The orthographic syllabication of words was evidently unsettled in Addison's 
time. The edition from which the selections are taken is in size a large quarto, and 
therefore would admit easily of a regular syllabication which is not always so prac- 
ticable in short lines. It was printed for Tonson, one of the most careful and taste- 
ful typographers of the first half of the last century. Yet we find such anomalies 
of syllabication as i7ifi nity, omni science, ahi lities,pre sent, imagine, e ver, ve ry, 
di stance, clia racter, encourage, posterity. With all allowance for typographical 
oversights, we cannot hesitate to pronounce the syllabication of this period to be 
without law. 

3. The style of Addison is generally remarkable for its accuracy. In comparison, 
the style of his associate, Steele, for instance, is to be characterized as most grossly 
loose and slovenly. That we find expressions in Addison which would now discredit 
a novice in literary composition, proves not so much his negligence as the progress 
of taste in matters of style. In general, we must characterize the style of this 
period as far looser than it is at present. Some grammatical peculiarities are hero 
particularly to be noticed. The use of an before a sounded h under the accent occurs 
everywhere, as an hen, an hundred, an hare, an humorist. The use of the gerund 
as a proper participial, in its twofold function of a verb and of a noun is so frequent 
as to compel us to regard it as established by the law of the language. It will be 
observed that it governs its object without a preposition, and admits of tense distinc. 
tion like a verb, while at the same time it is used as a noun, both as subject of a 
verb and object of a preposition and of a verb, and takes definitives, as the article, 
etc. , before it. Moreover, it takes its subject in the genitive or possessive case. The 
following are instances: " For the leaving a posterity;" " Pardon the mentioning 
such an instance of cruelty;" " Her cozier^'ng- it ; " "'S.^v forsaking the nest;" 
"Upon the hnighfs conjuring m^;'''' " For the JeacAmg- this part ; " " Upon the 
knighfs asking him ; " " Approved of my friend''s insisting upon the qualifica- 
tions." 

The following expressions are noticeable whether they are regarded as instances of 
negligence or as authorized at that stage of our literature : " Is travelled ; " " That 
cherubim which now appears ; " " Asking him who preached to-morrow ; " " Were 
the soul separate from the body and with one glance of thought should start beyond 
the bounds of the creation ; " " There is nothing can so effectually shew the 
strength ; " " The make of every kind of animal is different from that of any other 
kind ; " "Never so different ; " " Who rid before us ; " " Was sat ; " " He plagued 
a couple of honest gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges, 



ALEXANDER POPE. 299 

till he was forced to sell the ground it enclosed to defray the charges of the pros- 
ecution." 

RhetoricaUy the style of Addison is to be characterized as remarkably easy and 
natural. The sentences are short, but little involved, and direct, with few inversions. 
It excels in the oral properties, being melodious, rh3'thniical, and so far as the simple 
and direct structure of the sentence admits, harmonious. It is a style which is in 
strong contrast with the sententiousness of Lord Bacon on the one hand, and the 
full, round, periodical style of Edmund Burke on the other. It is a style which 
seems to have been the model and the leader to the more perfected style which so 
captivates in the writings of Macanlay and Irving, by its naturalness, simplicity, 
clearness, and grace. There is nothing more to be sought in these great qualities 
of prose writing iu English. There can he progress only in combining these proper- 
ties with expressed richness, exactness, and intensity of thought as these qualities 
appear in Bolingbroke, Shaftesbury, and Burke. 



10. ALEXANDER POPE, 1688-1744. 

Alexander Pope was born in London, May 21, 1688, and died at Twickenham, 
a village on the Thames, a few miles out of London, May 30, 1744. His education 
was chiefly in private and irregular. His favorite studies were among the poets, of 
whom Drj'den was held in warmest admiration. He commenced writing at an early 
age, his " Ode on Solitude " having been written at the age of 12. His principal com- 
positions are his " Essay on Criticism," published in 1711 ; the " Messiah," in 1712 • 
the " Rape of the Lock," in the enlarged form in 1714 ; his Translation of the Iliad, 
1715-1720; the "Epistle of Eloise to Abelard," in 1717; his Translation of the 
Odyssey, in 1725 and 1726; the " Dunciad," in 1728; "Essay on Man," in 1732- 
1734. 

The selections are from Warburton's edition in 1751, the first complete edition, for 
which Pope himself just before his death revised and corrected his various com- 
positions. 

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 

AN HEEOI-COMICAL POEM. 

Written in the Year mdccxii. 

To Mrs. Arabella Termor. 

Madam, 

It will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this piece, since I dedicate it 
to You. Yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young 
Ladies, who have good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their 
sex's little unguarded follies, but at their,own. But as it was communicated with 
the air of a Secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having 
been offer'd to a Bookseller, you had the good-nature for my sake to consent to iu-i 
publication of one more correct : This I was forc'd to, before I had executed half 
my design, for the Machinery was entirely wanting to compleat it. 

The Machinery, Madam, is a term invented by the Critics, to signify that part 
which the Deities, Angels, or Dsemons are made to act in a Poem : For the ancient 
Poets are in one respect like many modern Ladies : let an action be never so trivial 
in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost importance. These Machines I 
determin'd to raise on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrucian doctrine of 
Spirits. 



300 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a Lady ; but 'tis 
80 much the concern of a Poet to have his works understood, and particularly by 
your Sex, that you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms. 

The Kosicrucians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best ac- 
count I know of them is in a French book call'd Le Comte de Gabalis, which both 
in its title and size is so like a Novel, that many of the Fair Sex have read it for one 
by mistake. According to these Gentlemen, the four Elements are inhabited by 
Spirits, which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Salamanders. The Gnomes 
or Daemons of Earth delight in mischief; but the Sylphs, whose habitation is in the 
Air, are the best-condition'd creatures imaginable. For they say, any mortals may 
enjoy the most intimate familiarities with these gentle Spirits, upon a condition very 
easy to all true Adepts, an inviolate preservation of Chastity. 

As to the following Canto's, all the passages of them are as fabulous, as the Vision 
at the beginning, or the Transformation at the end ; (except the loss of your Hair, 
which I always mention with reverence.) The Human persons are as fictitious as 
the Airy ones ; and the character of Belinda, as it is now manag'd, resembles you in 
nothing but in Beauty. 

If this poem had as many Graces as there are in your Person, or in your Mind, 
yet I could never hope it should pass thro' the world half so TJncensur'd as You 
have done. But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have 
given me this occasion of assuring you that I am, with the truest esteem, 
Madam, 
Your most obedient., Humble Servant, 

A. POPE. 

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 

Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos ; 
Sed juvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis. — Mart. 



What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse ! is due : 
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view : 
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, 
If She inspire, and He approve my lays. 

Say what strange motive, Goddess ! could compel 
A weU-bred Lord t'assault a gentle Belle ? 
Oh say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd. 
Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord ? 
In tasks so bold, can little men engage, 
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty Rage ? 

Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray. 
And ope'd those eyes that must eclipse the day : 
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake, 
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake : 
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground 



ALEXANDER POPE. 301 

And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound. 
Belinda still her downy pillow prest, 
Her guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy rest : ^^ 

'Twas He had summon'd to her silent bed 
The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head, 
A Youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau, 
(That ev'n in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow) 
Seem'd to her ear his winning hps to lay, ^^ 

And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say. 
Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care 
Of thousand bright Inhabitants of Air ! 
If e'er one Vision touch thy infant thought, 
Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught ; '*" 

Of airy Elves by moonlight shadows seen, 
The silver token, and the circle green, 
Or virgins visited by Angel-pow'rs, 
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs ; 
Hear and believe ! thy own importance know, ^^ 

Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. 
Some secret truths, from learned pride conceal'd, 
To Maids alone and Children are reveal'd ; 
What tho' no credit doubting Wits may give : 
The Fair and Innocent shall still believe. ^ 

Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly. 
The light Militia of the lower sky : 
These, tho' unseen, are ever on the wing, 
Hang o'er the Box, and hover round the Ring. 
Think what an equipage thou hast in Air, ^^ 

And view with scorn two Pages and a Chair. 
As now your own, our beings were of old. 
And once inclos'd in Woman's beauteous mould ; 
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair 
From earthly Vehicles to these of air. ^° 

Think not, when Woman's transient breath is fled, 
That all her vanities at once are dead ; 
Succeeding vanities she still regards. 
And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards. 
Her joy in gilded Chariots, when alive, ^^ 

And love of Ombre, after death survive. 
For when the Fau* in all their pride expire, 
To their first Elements their Souls retire : 



302 EEPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

The Sprites of fiery Termagants in Flame 
Mount up, and take a Salamander's name. 
Soft yielding minds to Water glide away, 
And sip, with Nymphs, their elemental Tea. 
The graver Prude sinks downward to a Gnome, 
In search of mischief still on Earth to roam. 
The Ught Coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair, 
And sport and flutter in the fields of Air. 

Know farther yet ; whoever fair and chaste 
Rejects mankind, is by some Sylph embrac'd : 
For Spirits, freed fi-om mortal laws, with ease 
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please. 
What guards the purity of melting Maids, 
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades, 
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring spark, 
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark, 
When kind occasion prompts their warm desires, 
When music softens, and when dancing fires ? 
'Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celestials know, 
Tho' Honour is the word with Men below. 

Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face, 
For life predestin'd to the Gnomes embrace. 
These swell their prospects and exalt then* pride, 
When offers are disdain'd, and love deny'd : 
Then gay Ideas croud the vacant brain. 
While Peers, and Dukes, and all their sweeping train, 
And Garters, Stars, and Coronets appear. 
And in soft sounds. Your Grace salutes their ear. 
'Tis these that early taint the female soul, 
Instruct the eyes of young Coquettes to roll. 
Teach Infant-cheeks a bidden blush to know. 
And little hearts to flutter at a Beau. 

Oft, when the world imagine women stray. 
The Sylphs thro' mystic mazes guide their way. 
Thro' all the giddy chcle they pursue. 
And old impertinence expel by new. 
What tender maid but must a victim fall 
To one man's treat, but for another's ball ? 
Wlien Florio speaks what virgin could withstand. 
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand ? 
With varying vanities, firom ev'ry part, 



ALEXANDER POPE. 303 

They shift the moving Toyshop of their heart ; ^'^ 

Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots 

strive, 
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive. 
This erring mortals Levity may call, 
Oh blind to truth ! the Sylphs contrive it all. 

Of these am I, who thy protection claim, ^"^ 

A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 
Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air, 
In the clear Mirror of thy ruling Star 
I saw, alas ! some dread event impend. 
Ere to the main this morning sun descend, ^^^ 

But heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where : 
Warn'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware ! 
This to disclose is all thy guardian can : 
Beware of all, but most beware of Man ! 

He said ; when Shock, who thought she slept too 
long, "* 

Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue. 
'Twas then Belinda, if report say true. 
Thy eyes first open'd on a BiUet-doux ; 
Wounds, Charms, and Ardors, were no sooner read ; 
But all the Vision vanish'd from thy head. ^^ 

And now, unveil'd, the Toilet stands display'd, 
Each silver Vase in mystic order laid. 
First, rob'd in white, the Nymph intent adores, 
With head uncover'd, the Cosmetic pow'rs. 
A heav'nly Lnage in the glass appears, ^^ 

To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears ; 
Th' inferior Priestess, at her altar's side. 
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of Pride, 
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here 
The various ofTrings of the world appear ; ^^ 

From each she nicely culls with curious toil. 
And decks the Goddess with the glitt'ring spoU. 
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks. 
And aU Arabia breathes from yonder box. 
The Tortoise here and Elephant unite, ^^ 

Transform'd to combs, the speckled, and the white. 
Here files of pins extend their shining rows. 
Puffs, Powders, Patches, Bibles, Billet-doux. 



304 EEPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Now awful Beauty puts on all its arms ; 

The fair each moment rises in her charms, 

Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace, 

And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; 

Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, 

And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 

The busy Sylphs surround their darling care, 

These set the head, and those divide the hair, 

Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown ; 

And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own. 

CAKTO II. 

Not with more glories, in th' eternal plain. 
The Sun first rises o'er the purpled main, 
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 
Launeh'd on the bosom of the silver Thames. 
Fair Nymphs, and well-drest Youths around her shone. 
But ev'ry eye was fix'd on her alone. 
On her white breast a sparkling Cross she wore, 
Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore. 
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose. 
Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as those : 
Favom's to none, to aU she smiles extends ; 
Oft she rejects, but never once offends. 
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, 
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride 
Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide : 
If to her share some female errors fall, 
Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all. 

This Nymph, to the destruction of mankind, 
Nourish'd two Locks, which graceful hung behind 
In equal curls, and well conspir'd to deck 
With shining ringlets the smooth iv'ry neck. 
Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains. 
And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. 
With hairy springs we the birds betray, 
Slight lines of hah- surprize the finny prey, 
Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare, 
And beauty draws us with a single hair. 



ALEXANDER POPE. 305 

Th' advent'rous Baron tlie bright locks admir'd ; 
He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspir'd. ^ 

Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way, 
By force to ravish, or by fraud betray ; 
For wlaen success a Lover's toil attends, 
Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends. 

For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implor'd ^ 

Propitious heav'n, and ev'ry pow'r ador'd. 
But chiefly Love — to Love an Altar built. 
Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt. 
There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves ; 
And all the trophies of liis former loves ; *" 

With tender Billet-doux he lights the pyre. 
And breathes three am'rous sighs to raise the fire. 
Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes 
Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize : 
The pow'rs gave ear, and granted half his pray'r, ^* 

The rest, the winds dispers'd in empty air. 

But now secure the painted vessel ghdes, 
The sun-beams trembling on the floating tides : 
While melting music steals upon the sky. 
And soften'd sounds along the waters die ; ^ 

Smooth flow the waves, the Zephyrs gently play, 
Belinda smil'd, and all the world was gay. 
All but the Sylph — with careful thoughts opprest, 
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 
He summons strait his Denizens of air ; ' ^ 

The lucid squadrons round the sails repair ; 
Soft o'er the sln-ouds aerial whispers breathe. 
That seem'd but Zephyrs to the train beneath. 
Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, 
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold ; ^ 

Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, 
Their fluid bodies half dissolv'd in Hght. 
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew, 
Thin glitt'ring textures of the filmy dew, 
Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, ^ 

Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes, 
WhUe ev'ry beam new transient colours flings. 
Colours that change whene'er they wave their wings. 
Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, 

20 



306 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Superior by the head, was Ariel plac'd ; 
His purple pinions op'ning to the sun, 
He rais'd liis azure wand, and thus begun. 

Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear, 
Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Dasmons hear ! 
Ye know the spheres and various tasks assign'd 
By laws eternal to th' aerial kind. 
Some in the fields of purest ^ther play. 
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day. 
Some guide the com-se of wand'ring orbs on high. 
Or roll the planets thro' the boundless sky. 
Some less refin'd, beneath the moon's pale light 
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night, 
Or suck the mists in grosser air below, 
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow. 
Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, 
Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain. 
Others on earth o'er human race preside. 
Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide : 
Of these the chief the care of Nations own. 
And guard with Arms divine the British Throne. 

Our humbler province is to tend the Fair, 
Not a less pleasing, tho' less glorious care ; 
To save the powder from too rude a gale, 
Nor let th' imprison'd essences exhale ; 
To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow'rs ; 
To' steal fi-om rainbows e'er they drop in show'rs 
A brighter wash ; to ciu'l their waving hau'S, 
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs ; 
Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow. 
To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelow. 

This day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair 
That e'er deserv'd a watchful spu-it's care ; 
Some dire disaster, or by force, or flight ; 
But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night. 
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law. 
Or some frail China jar receive a flaw; 
Or stain her honour, or her new brocade ; 
Forget her pray'rs, or miss a masquerade ; 
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; 
Or whether Heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall. 



ALEXANDER POPE. 307 

Haste then, ye spirits ! to your charge repair : 

The flutt'ring fan be Zephyretta's care ; 

The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign ; 

And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine ; 

Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite Lock ; ^* 

Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. 

To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note, 
We trust th' important charge, the Petticoat : 
Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to fail, 
Tho' stiff with hoops, and arm'd with ribs of whale ; ^^ 
Form a strong line about the silver bound, 
And guard the wide circumference around. 

Whatever sjiirit, careless of his charge, 
His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large. 
Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins, ^"* 

Be stop'd in vials, or transfix'd with pins ; 
Or pluug'd in lakes of bitter washes lie. 
Or Avedg'd whole ages in a bodkin's eye : 
Gums and Pomatums shall his flight restrain, 
While clog'd he beats his silken wings in vain ; 
Or Alum styptics with contracting pow'r ^^ 

Shrink his thin essence like a rivel'd flow'r : 
Or, as Ixion fix'd, the wretch shall feel 
The giddy motion of the whirling Mill, 
In fiimes of burning Chocolate shall glow, ^^ 

And tremble at the sea that froths below ! 

He spoke ; the spirits from the sails descend I 
Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend ; 
Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair ; 
Some hang upon the pendants of her ear ; ^^^ 

With beating hearts the dire event they wait, 
Anxious, and trembling for the birth of Fate. 

CANTO, in. 

Close by those meads, for ever crown'd with flow'rs, 
Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs, 
There stands a structure of majestic frame. 
Which from the neighb'ring Hampton takes its name. 
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom 
Of foreign Tyrants, and of Nymphs at home ; 



308 representativp: selections. 

Here tliou, great Anna ! whom three realms obey, 
Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes Tea. 

Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, 
To taste awhile the pleasures of a Court ; 
In various talk th' instructive hours they past, 
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last ; 
One speaks the glory of the British Queen, 
And one describes a charming Indian screen ; 
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes ; 
At ev'ry word a reputation dies. 
SnufF, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, 
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all iliaU 

Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, 
The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray ; 
The hungry Judges soon the sentence sign. 
And wretches hang that jmy-men may dine ; 
The merchant from th' Exchange retmms in peace. 
And the long labours of the Toilet cease. 
Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, 
Burns to encounter two adven'trous Knights, 
At Ombre singly to decide their doom ; 
And swells her breast with conquests yet to come. 
Strait the three bands prepare in arms to join, 
Each band the number of the sacred nine. 
Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial guard 
Descend, and sit on each important card : 
Fhst Ai-iel perch'd upon a Matadore, 
Then each, according to the rank they bore ; 
For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race. 
Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. 

Behold, four Kings in majesty rever'd. 
With hoary whiskere and a forky beard ; 
And four fau' Queens whose hands sustain a flow'r, 
Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r ; 
Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band, 
Caps on their heads, and halberts in their hand ; 
And particolour'd troops, a shining train. 
Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. 

The skilful Nymph reviews her force with care : 
Let Spades be trumps ! she said, and trumps they were. 

Now move to war her sable Matadores, 



ALEXANDER POPE. 309 

In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. 

SpadlUio first, unconquerable Lord ! 

Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board. ^ 

As many more ManilHo forc'd to yield. 

And march'd a victor from the verdant field. 

Plim Basto foUow'd, but his fate more hard 

Gain'd but one trump and one Plebeian card. 

With his broad sabre next, a chief in years, ^ 

The hoary Majesty of Spades appears. 

Puts forth one manly leg, to sight reveal'd, 

The rest, his many-colour'd robe conceal'd. 

The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage, 

Proves the just victim of his royal rage. ^ 

Ev'n mighty Pain, that Kings and Queens o'erthrew 

And mow'd down armies in the fights of Lu, 

Sad chance of war ! now destitute of aid. 

Falls undistinguish'd by the victor Spade ! 

Thus far both armies to Behnda yield ; ^ 

Now to the Baron fate inclines the field. 
His warlike Amazon her host invades, 
Th' imperial consort of the crown of Spades. 
The Club's black Tyrant first her victim dy'd. 
Spite of his haughty mien, and barb'rous pride : ™ 

What boots the regal circle on his head, 
His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread ; 
That long behind he trails his pompous robe, 
And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe ? 

The Baron now his Diamonds pours apace ; ^^ 

Th' embroider'd King who shows but half his face. 
And his refulgent Queen, with pow'rs combin'd 
Of broken troops an easy conquest find. 
Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen, 
With throngs promiscuous strow the level green. ^ 

Thus when dispers'd a routed army runs. 
Of Asia's troops, and Afi-ic's sable sons. 
With like confiision different nations fly. 
Of various habit, and of various dye, 
The pierc'd battalions dis-united fall, ^ 

In heaps on heaps ; one fate o'erwhelms them all. 

The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts, 
And wins (oh shameful chance !) the Queen of Hearts. 



310 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

At this, the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, 

A hvid paleness spreads o'er all her look ; ^ 

She sees, and trembles at th' approaching HI, 

Just in the jaws of ruin, and Codille. 

And now, (as oft in some distemper'd State) 

On one nice Trick depends the gen'ral fate. 

An Ace of Hearts steps forth : The King unseen ^^ 

Lurk'd in her hand, and mourn'd his captive Queen : 

He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, 

And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace. 

The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky ; 

The walls, the woods, and long canals reply. •^'"' 

Oh thoughtless mortals ! ever blind to fate, 
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate. 
Sudden, these honom's shall be snatch'd away, 
And curs'd for ever this victorious day. 

For lo ! the board with cups and spoons is crown'd, ^"" 
The berries crackle, and the mill turns round ; 
On shining Altars of Japan they raise 
The silver lamp ; the fiery spu-its blaze : 
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, 
Wliile China's earth receives the smoaking tyde : ■^'' 

At once they gratify their scent and taste. 
And frequent cups prolong the rich repaste. 
Strait hover round the Fair her airy band ; 
Some, as she sipp'd, the fuming Hquor fann'd, 
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes display'd, ^^* 

Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade. 
Coffee, (which makes the politician wise. 
And see thro' all things with his half-shut eyes) 
Sent up in vapours to the Baron's brain 
New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain. ^^ 

Ah cease, rash youth ! desist ere 'tis too late. 
Fear the just Gods, and think of ScyUa's Fate ! 
Chang'd to a bird, and sent to flit in air. 
She dearly pays for Nisus' injur'd hair ! 

But when to mischief mortals bend their wiU, ^^ 

How soon they find fit instruments of ill ? 
Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace 
A two-edg'd weapon from her shining case : 
So Ladies in Romance assist their Knight, 



ALEXANDER POPE. 311 

Present the spear, and arm him for the fight. ^^° 

He takes the gift with rev'rence, and extends 

The Httle engine on his finger's ends ; 

This just behind BeHnda's neck he spread, 

As o'er the fi-agrant steam she bends her head. 

Swift to the Lock a thousand Sjjrites repair, ^^ 

A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair ; 

And thrice they twitch'd the diamond in her ear ; 

Tlu-ice she look'd back, and tlirice the foe drew near. 

Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 

The close recesses of the Virgin's thought ; ^^^ 

As on the nosegay in her breast reclin'd, 

He watch'd th' Ideas rising in her mind, 

Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her art, 

An earthly Lover lui'king at her heart. 

Amaz'd, confus'd, he found liis pow'r expir'd, ^^ 

Resign'd to fate, and with a sigh retir'd. 

The Peer now spreads the gHtt'ring Forfex wide," 
T' inclose the Lock ; now joins it, to divide. 
Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd, 
A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos'd ; ^* 

Fate urg'd the sheers, and cut the Sylph in twain, 
(But airy substance soon unites again) 
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever 
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever ! 

Then flash'd the living lightning from her eyes, ^^ 
And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies. 
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast, 
When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe then' last ; 
Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high. 
In glitt'ring dust, and painted fragments lie ! ^'^ 

Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine, 
(The Victor cry'd) the glorious Prize is mine 1 
While fish in streams, or birds delight in air. 
Or in a coach and six the British Fair, 
As long as Atalantis shall be read, ^"^ 

Or the small pillow grace a Lady's bed. 
While visits shaU be paid on solemn days, 
When num'rous wax-lights in bright order blaze. 
While nymphs take treats, or assignations give, 
So long my honour, name, and praise shall live ! ^™ 



312 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Wtat Time would spare, from Steel receives its date, 

And monuments, like men, submit to fate 1 

Steel could the labour of the Gods destroy, • 

And strike to dust tb' imperial tow'rs of Troj'' ; 

Steel could the works of mortal pride confound, ^^ 

And hew triumphal arches to the ground. 

Wliat wonder then, fair nymph ! thy hairs should feel, 

The conqu'ring force of unresisted steel ? 

CANTO IV. 

But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd, 
And secret passions labour'd in her breast. 
Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive, 
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, 
Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss, 
Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss. 
Not tp-ants fierce that unrepen ting die, 
Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd awry, 
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despau-, 
As thou, sad Virgin ! for thy ravish'd Hair. ^ 

For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew, 
And Ai'iel weeping from Belinda flew, 
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, 
As ever suUy'd the fair face of light, 
Down to the central earth, his proper scene, ' 

E.epau''d to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen. 

Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome, 
And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome. 
No chearful breeze this sullen region knows, 
The dreaded East is aU the wind that blows. ^ 

Here in a grotto, shelter'd close from air. 
And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare, 
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed. 
Pain at her side, and Megrim at the head. 

Two handmaids wait the throne : alike in place, '' 
But diff''ring far in figure and in face. 
Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid. 
Her wi'inkled form in black and white array'd ; 
With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons, 
Her hand is fiU'd ; her bosom with lampoons. ' 



ALEXANDER POPE. 313 

There AfFectation, with a sickly mien, 
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, 
Practis'd to lisp, and hang the head aside, 
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride, 
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, ** 

Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show. 
The fair-ones feel such maladies as these. 
When each new night-dress gives a new disease. 

A constant Vapour o'er the palace flies ; 
Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise ; * 

Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted shades. 
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids. 
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires, 
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires : 
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, *^ 

And crystal domes, and Angels in machines. 

TJnnumber'd tlirongs on ev'ry side are seen, 
Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen. 
Here living Tea-pots stand, one arm held out. 
One bent ; the handle this, and that the spout : ™ 

A Pipkin there, like Homer's Tripod walks ; 
Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pye talks ; 
Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works, 
And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks. 

Safe past the Gnome thro' this fantastic band, ^ 

A branch of healing Spleenwort in his hand. 
Then thus address'd the pow'r — Hail wayward Queen! 
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen : 
Parent of vapours and of female wit. 
Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit, ** 

On various tempers act by various ways, 
Make some take physic, others scribble plays ; 
Who cause the proud their visits to delay, 
And send the godly in a pet to pray. 
A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains, ^ 

And thousands more in equal mu-th maintains. 
But oh I if e'er thy Gnome could spoil a grace. 
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face, 
Like Citron-waters matrons cheeks inflame, 
Or change complexions at a losing game ; 
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads, 



814 REPKESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds, 

Or caus'd suspicion when no soul -vvas rude, 

Or discompos'd the head-dress of a Prude, 

Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease, 

Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease : 

Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin. 

That single act gives half the world the spleen. 

The Goddess with a discontented air 
Seems to reject him, tho' she grants his pray'r. 
A wond'rous Bag with both her hands she binds, 
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds ; 
There she collects the force of female lungs. 
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues. 
A Vial next she fills with fainting fears, 
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. 
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, 
- Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. 
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found, 
Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound. 
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent, 
And all the Furies issu'd at the vent. 
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire. 
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 
O wretched maid ! she spread her hands, and cry'd, 
(Wliile Hampton's echoes, wretched maid I reply'd) 
Was it for this you took such constant care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare ? 
For this your locks in paper durance bound. 
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around ? 
For this with fillets strain'd your tender head. 
And bravely bore the double loads of lead ? 
Gods ! shall the ravisher display your hair, 
Wliile the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare ! 
Honour forbid ! at whose unrival'd shrine 
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 
Methinks already I your tears survey. 
Already hear the horrid things they say, 
Ah'eady see you a degraded toast. 
And all yoiu* honour in a whisper lost I 
How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend ? 
'Twill then be infamy to seem your fi:iend I 



ALEXANDER POPE. 315 

And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize, 

Expos'd thro' crystal to the gazing eyes, 

And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays, ^■'^ 

On that rapacious hand for ever blaze ? 

Sooner shall grass in Hyde-park Circus grow, 

And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow ; 

Sooner let earth, air, sea, to Chaos fall. 

Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all 1 ^^ 

She said ; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, 
And bids her Beau demand the precious hairs : 
(Sir Plume of amber snuiF-box justly vain, 
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) 
With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, ^^ 

He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case, 
And thus broke out — " My Lord, why, what the devil ? 
Z — ds ! damn the lock ! 'fore Gad, you must be civil I 
Plague on't ! 'tis past a jest — nay prithee, pox ! 
Give her the hair " — he spoke, and rapp'd his box. ^^ 

It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again) 
Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain. 
But by this Lock, this sacred Lock I swear, 
(Which never more shall join its parted hair ; 
Which never more its honours shall renew, ^^ 

Clip'd from the lovely head where late it grew) 
That while my nostrils draw the vital air. 
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear. 
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread 
The long-contended honours of her head. ^*° 

But Umbriel, hateful Gnome ! forbears not so ; 
He breaks the Vial whence the sorrows flow. 
Then see ! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, 
Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears ; 
On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head, ^'^^ 

Which, with a sigh, she rais'd ; and thus she said. 

For ever curs'd be this detested day, 
Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away ! 
Happy ! ah ten times happy had I been, 
If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen ! ^^ 

Yet am not I the first mistaken maid. 
By love of Courts to num'rous Uls betray'd. 
Oh had I rather un-admir'd remain'd 



316 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

In some lone isle, or distant Northern land ; 
"Wliere tlie gUt Chariot never marks the way, 
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste Bohea ! 
Tliere kejst my charms conceai'd from mortal eye, 
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. 
^^Hiat mov'd my mind with youthful Lords to roam? 
O had I stay'd, and said my pray'rs at home ! 
'Twas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell. 
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell ; 
The tott'ring China shook without a wind, 
Nay Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind ! 
A Sylph too warn'd me of the thi-eats of fate, 
In mystic visions, now behev'd too late ! 
See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs ! 
My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares : 
These in two sable ringlets taught to break. 
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck ; 
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone. 
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own ; 
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal sheers demands, 
And tempts once more, thy sacrilegious hands. 
Oh hadst thou, cruel ! been content to seize 
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these ! 



She said : the pitying audience melt in tears. 
But Fate and Jove had stopj)'d the Baron's ears. 
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, 
For who can move when fair Belinda fails ? 
Not half so fix'd the Trojan could remain, 
While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain. 
Then grave Clai'issa graceful wav'd her fan ; 
Silence ensu'd, and thus the nymph began. 

Say why are Beauties prais'd and honour'd most, 
The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast ? 
Why deck'd with all that land and sea afford, 
Why Angels caU'd, and Angel-like ador'd ? 
Why round our coaches the white-glov'd Beaux, 
Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows ? 
How vain are all these glories, all our pains, 



ALEXANDER POPE. 317 

Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains : 

That men may say, when we the front-box grace, 

Behold the first in vu'tue as in face ! 

Oh ! if to dance all night, and dress aU day, 

Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old-age away ; ^ 

Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce, 

Or who would learn one earthly thing of use ? 

To patch, nay ogle, might become a Saint, 

Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. 

But since, alas ! frail beauty must decay, ^ 

Curl'd or uncurl'd, since Locks will turn to gray ; 

Since painted, or not painted, all shaU fade. 

And she who scorns a man, must die a maid ; 

What then remains but well our pow'r to use. 

And keep good-humour still whate'er we lose ? ^ 

And trust me, dear ! good-humour can prevail. 

When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail. 

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roU ; 

Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul. 

So spoke the Dame, but no applause ensu'd ; ^^ 

Belinda frown'd, Thalestris call'd her Prude. 
To arms, to arms ! the fierce Virago cries, 
And swift as lightning to the combat flies. 
All side in parties, and begin th' attack ; 
Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack ; * 
Heroes and Heroines shouts confus'dly rise. 
And base, and treble voices strike the skies. 
No common weapons in their hands are found. 
Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound. 

So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage, ^^ 

And heav'nly breasts with human passions rage ; 
'Gainst Pallas, Mars ; Latom, Hermes arms ; 
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms : 
Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles aU around. 
Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound : ^ 
Earth shakes her nodding towr's, the ground gives 

way, 
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day ! 

Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height 
Clap'd his glad wings, and sate to view the fight : 
Prop'd on their bodkin spears, the Sprites survey ** 

The growing combat, or assist the fray. * 



318 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

While thro' the press enrag'd Thalestris flies, 
And scatters death around from both her eyes, 
A Beau and Witling perish'd in the throng. 
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song. 
" O cruel nymph ! a Uving death I bear," 
Cry'd Dapperwit, and suidc beside his chair. 
A mournful glance Sir Foplings upwards cast, 
" Those eyes are made so killing " — was his last. 
Thus on Mseander's flow'ry margin lies 
Th' expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies. 

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, 
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown ; 
She smil'd to see the doughty hero slain, 
But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again. 

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air. 
Weighs the Men's wits against the Lady's hair ; 
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side ; 
At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside. 

See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, 
With more than usual lightning in her eyes : 
Nor fear'd the Chief th' unequal fight to try. 
Who sought no more than on his foe to die. 
But this bold Lord with manly strength endu'd, 
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd : 
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, 
A charge of SnufF the wily vfrgin threw ; 
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atome just. 
The pungent grains of titillating dust. 
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows, 
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. 

Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd, 
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. 
(The same, his ancient personage to deck. 
Her great great grandsire wore about his neck. 
In three seal-rings ; which after, melted down, 
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown : 
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew. 
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew ; 
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, 
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) 

Boast not my fall (he cry'd) insulting foe I 



ALEXANDER POPE. 319 

Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. 

Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind : 

All that I dread is leaving you behind ! ^^ 

Kather than so, ah let me still survive, 

And burn in Cuj)id's flames, — but burn alive. 

Restore the Lock 1 she cries ; and all around 
Restore the Lock ! the vaulted roofs rebound. 
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain ^'^ 

Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. 
But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd, 
And chiefs contend 'till all the prize is lost ! 
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain, 
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain : "" 

With such a prize no mortal must be blest. 
So heav'n decrees ! with heav'n who can contest ? 

Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere, 
Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there. 
There Hero's wits are kept in pond'rous vases, ^^ 

And Beau's in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases. 
There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, 
And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound, 
The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs, 
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of hens, ^^ 

Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea, 
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. 

But trust the Muse — she saw it upward rise, 
Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes : 
(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, ^^ 
To Proculus alone confess'd in view) 
A sudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air, 
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. 
Not Berenice's Locks firsif rose so bright 
The heav'ns bespangling with dishevel'd hght. ^^ 

The Sylphs behold it kindhng as it flies. 
And pleas'd pursue its progress thro' the skies. 

This the Beau monde shall from the Mall survey, 
And hail with music its propitious ray. 
Tliis the blest Lover shall for Venus take, ^^ 

And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake. 
Tliis Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, 
Wlien next he looks thro' Galilfeo's eyes ; 



320 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



1 



And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom 
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Home. ■^*' 

Then cease, bright Nymph ! to mourn thy ravish'd 
hair, 
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere ! 
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, 
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. 
For, after all the murders of your eye, ^*^ 

When, after millions slain, yourself shall die ; 
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, 
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, 
This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame, 
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. ^* 

NOTES ON THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. 

We learn from Warburton's notes that this poem was composed by request of a 
Mr. Caryl, ivith a view of putting an end by this piece of ridicule to a quarrel be- 
tween two noble families. A certain Lord Petre had given offense to a Mrs. Fermor, 
by cutting off a lock of her hair. The poem was presented in its original form in 
two cantos to the offended lady. It was circulated in manuscript copies by her, and 
afterwards printed, in 1711, without the name of the author. It was receiyed so well 
that the next year he added the machinery of the Sylphs, and extended the jMsem to 
five cantos. "This insertion," says Warburton, " he always esteemed, and justly, 
the greatest effort of his skill and art as a poet." 

The orthogi-aphy remains but little changed from that which we found in the 
edition of Addison, which was brought out twenty-one years before. The apos- 
trophe is generally inserted to mark the genitive or possessive case singular, but is 
omitted in the plural. Thus we have "the gnomes embrace," canto i. ver, 80; 
^^ heroes and heroines shouts," gnomes, heroes, and heroines, being in the possessive 
case. 

Peculiarities in proper grammatical expression, further, are the use of the posses- 
sive of the pronoun to denote object of the governing noun ; as i. 105, " Who thy 
protection claim ; " i. e. claim the protection of thee. But is used after a compara- 
tive, a use now discarded ; as i. 119, 120 : — 

" Were no sooner read, 
But all the vision vanish'd." 

Pope perfected the prosody of our poetry so far as respects the construction of 
single verses. By a most scrupulous conformity to the rule of the verse, he showed 
precisely wherein the perfection of rhythmical structure consists ; and so incurred 
the criticism of Cowper, who revolted from this predominance given to form over 
idea, in the familiar distich charging Pope that he — 

" Made poetry a mere mechanic arti 
And every warbler knew his tune by heart." 

The leading peculiarities of the versification of Pope as they appear in this poem, 
are: — 

1. The preference given to the heroic or the iambic pentameter verse, with no de- 
viations from the law of its structure except for the sake of avoiding monotony. It 
would be dif&cult to find a poor rhythm in the poem. The most prosaic verse is 



ALEXANDER POPE. 321 

perhaps ver. 52, in canto t. : " And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day." 
Catalectics are shunned, as also triple rhymes. 

2. A favorite deviation from a pure heroic is the substitution of a trochee or 
pyrrhic for an iambus in the first or the fifth foot ; as c.-i. ver. 32 : " Shows in her 
cheek the roses of eighteen ; " and ver. 34 : " Faints into airs, and languishes with 
pride." 

3. The versification is commensurate with the thought. Thus, the poet does not 
carry closely connected thought over the rhyming distich. In other words, the 
pronunciation of his poem, so directed as to give most fully the relations of the 
thought, must pause at the end of each pair of rhymes, as if to give the full effect of 
the rhyme on the ear. So also each verse is constructed on this same principle, that 
the ear may take in and weigh the completed rhythm of each. The management 
of the caesura of each kind, § 57, is with great skill, and constitutes a marked pecu- 
liarity in the versification of Pope. The tie plus ultra of his rhythmic structure 
seems to have been an heroic with a trochee in the first measure, a pyrrhic in the 
fourth, and a strong caesura dividing the third, and a weaker one the fourth, as in 
the familiar jingle : " Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw ; " Ep. i. ver. 276 
of his " Essay on Man " and the two verses quoted above. 

Closely associated with this rhythmic element in a poetic temperament is the love 
of antithesis, which is a characteristic quality of Pope's style. The essence of an- 
tithesis lies in the balancing of its two factors one against the other, and its leading 
artistic attribute lies in placing the more emphatic factor last, just as the rhythmic 
csesura after the second measure breaks the verse into two portions, and at the same 
time leaves the last portion the more weighty on the ear. In a humorous poem, 
like the " Rape of the Lock," the antithesis should be as well a surprise to the 
reader as also an anticlimax, — a descent from a graver to a more trivial thought. 
Of this variety of anticlimatio antithesis, we have numerous instances in this poem. 
Thus, c. iii. ver. 8 : — 



" Here thou, great Anna, whom three realms obey, 
Do3t Bometimes counsel take and sometimes tea." 



So, ver. 22 : — 
And ver. 158 : — 



And wretches hang that jurymen may dine." 
When hiabands or when lap-dogs breathe their last." 



Also c. iv. ver. 29 : — 

" With store of prayers for mornings, nights, and noons, 
Her hand is filled i her bosom with lampoons." 

As the poem is in imitation of the epic, which has its character determined from 
classical models, the poet has frequent references to classical literature. The follow- 
ing are noticed for explanation to those not so familiar with the classic authors. 

Canto III. ver. 122. Scylla's fate. The story of Scylla, in " Ovid's Meta- 
morphoses," bk. viii., is referred to. Scylla was the daughter of Nisus, King of Me- 
gara, who was fated to live so long as a certain lock of hair on his head remained 
uncut. When Minos, King of Crete, was besieging Megara, Scylla, having fallen in 
love with Minos, to win his favor, cut off the fatal lock, and so brought about her 
father's death and the capture of the city. But the traitress received her reward by 
being tied to the stern of the conqueror's vessel, and thus dragged through the 
water till she was drowned. Moreover one legend added that Nisus was transformed 
into a bird called the sea eagle, and Scylla into another bird named cirus, and that 
the father ever pursues the daughter in punishment for her crime. 

Canto IV. Ver. 89. Thalestris was a queen of the Amazons. — 133. By tWs 
21 



322 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

lock, in allusion to Achilles' oath in Homer, II. i. w. 809-324 of Pope's translsk- 

tion : — 

" Now by this scepter, hear me swear," etc. 
" Tremendous oath, inviolate to lyings. 

By this I swear, when bleeding Greece again 

Sliall call Achillea, she shall call in vain." 

Canto V. Ver. 65. Maeander, a famous river of Asia Minor, remarkable for its 
winding course, rising in Phrygia, and falling into the ^gean. It is now called the 
Minder. Theallusion is immediately to Ovid, " Heroides," Ep. vii. : "Advada Mce- 
andri concinit albus olor." —Ver. 89-96. In imitation of Iliad, ii. 129-136 of Pope's 
translation, representing the history of Agamemnon's golden scepter. — Berenice's 
locks. Berenice was a daughter of Ptolemy Philadelphus and Arsinoe. Having 
married Ptolemy Euergetes, on the safe return of her husband from Egypt, she 
placed her beautiful head of hair in the Temple of Venus, to whom she bad vowed 
it on this condition of her husband's return. The day after, however, the hair was 
missing. An eminent astronomer, Conon, to comfort the royal pair, who were much 
disturbed by the loss, declared that the locks had been transformed by the gods into 
a constellation in the heavens, hence called Coma Berenices, Berenice's hair. — 
The allusion in c. iii. ver. 152, " But airy substance soon unites again," is to the 
combat in the sixth book of the " Paradise Lost," in which the archangel Michael 
cuts through the right side of Satan : — 

" The griding sword with discontinuous wound 
Passed through him ; but the ethereal substance closed, 
Not long divisible."— Vv. 329-331. 

Atalantis, c. iii. ver. 165, is the name of a famous book full of scandal, writ- 
ten by a woman , about the time of the poem . 

Partridge is the famous almanac-maker, immortalized by the humor of Swift, 
who, to ridicule the silly predictions that appeared in the ahnanac from year to year, 
published first a paper predicting the death of Partridge at a determinate time, and 
then issued another narrating the death as realized according to the prediction. So 
generally was the narrative credited, that it caused Partridg-e great trouble to secure 
the sale of subsec[uent editions of his almanac. 



11. WILLIAM COWPER, 1731-1800. 

William Cowper was the son of Rev. John Cowper, rector of Great Berkham- 
stead in Hertfordshire ; and was born in that place November 15, 1731. He lost his 
mother just as he was completing his sixth year ; and was then placed under the care 
of Dr. Pitman, a few miles from his father's residence, where he remained two years. 
At the age of ten he entered Westminster School, where he remained till the age of 
eighteen. He was then apprenticed to a Mr. Chapman, a solicitor in London, for the 
study of the law, for three years, and at the expiration of this term he took cham- 
bers in the Inner Temple, where he remained eleven years, giving attention rather to 
literature than to law. At the age of thirty-one he was offered first the offices of 
reading-clerk and clerk of the private committees in the House of Lords, and after- 
wards, on his resigning that situation on account of his extreme diffidence, the clerk- 
ship of the journals in the House of Lords. But the thought of the examination to 
■which he was summoned so overwhelmed his diffident spirit that his reason gave 
way, and he was placed under the care of Dr. Colton, at St. Albans. Here he re- 
mained eighteen months. In the summer of 1764 he experienced a great religious 
change, and for some years was very happy in his religious views and hopes. In 
1765, he went to Huntingdon and was soon introduced into the family of the Mervins. 
On the death of Mr. Mervin, in 1767, he went with the family to Olney, in Bucking- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 323 

hamshire, where he enjoyed the friendship of the Rev. John Newton. Here he 
assisted Mr. Newton in the pubhcation of the " Olney Hjmn.s," to which collection he 
contributed sixty-eight pieces. In 1780 he comnienced some of his larger poems, and 
by the following March he had completed "The Table Talk," "The Progress of 
Prror," "Truth," and " Expostulation," which with some small pieces were sent 
to the press in May, 1781. Some delay occurring in the printing, he added during the 
summer and fall the poems of " Hope," " Charity," " Conversation," and " Retire- 
ment." In October, 1782, he wrote " John Gilpin." Having heard the story from 
the lips of Lady Austin one evening, he versified it in bed, and presented it to her the 
next morning. The next summer this lady induced him to undertake a poem in 
blank verse, and gave him for his theme the Sofa. This was the origin of " The 
Task," which was published in 1785, with the " Tirocinium," and " John Gilpin. 'i 
The following year he removed to Weston Underwood, in the neighborhood of his 
cousin, Lady Hesketh, who continued to extend to him the warmest sympathy and 
most devoted friendship. In 1790 he completed his translation of the Iliad and 
Odyssey of Homer, a work which had occupied him through a period of over five 
years. In 1794, the malady which had before so often overwhelmed him returned 
with new virulence. With little relaxation it held his mind in darkness and in gloom 
till his death, which occurred at East Dereham, Nottinghamshire, on the twenty-fifth 
of April, 1800. Besides the larger poems mentioned he wrote many minor pieces. 

THE TASK, BOOK II. 
THE TIME-PIECE, VV. 161-544. 

Happy the man, who sees a God employed ^^^ 

In all the good and ill that checker life ! 
Resolving aU events, with their effects 
And manifold results, into the wiU 

And arbitration wise of the Supreme. ^^ 

Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
The least of our concerns (since from the least 
The greatest oft originate) ; could chance 
Find place in his dominion, or dispose 

One lawless particle to thwart his plan ; *^* 

Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen 
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb 
Tlie smooth and equal course of his affairs. 
This truth Philosophy, though eagle-eyed 
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ; ^^^ 

And, having found his instrument, forgets, 
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, 
Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims 
His hot displeasure against foolish men, 
That live an atheist life ; involves the heavens ^^ 

In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds, 
And gives them aU their fury ; bids a plague 



324 REPKESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin, 

And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. 

He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 

Blows mildew from between his shriveled lips, 

And taints the golden ear. lie springs his mines, 

And desolates a nation at a blast. 

Forth steps the spruce Philosopher, and tells 

Of homogeneal and discordant springs 

And principles ; of causes, how they work 

By necessary laws their siu-e effects 

Of action and reaction : he has found 

The source of the disease that natiu-e feels, 

And bids the world take heart and banish fear. 

Thou fool ! Will thy discovery of the cause 

Suspend th' efiect, or heal it ? Has not God 

Still wrought by means since first he made the world ? 

And did he not of old employ his means 

To drown it ? What is his creation less, 

Than a capacious reservoir of means, 

Formed for his use, and ready at his will ? 

Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salves ; ask of Him, 

Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ; 

And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still — 
My country ! and, while yet a nook is left. 
Where English minds and manners may be found. 
Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clime 
Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed 
With dripping rains, or withered by a fi'ost, 
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies. 
And fields without a flower, for warmer France 
With aU her vines : nor for Ausonia's groves 
Of golden fi-uitage, and her myrtle boAvers. 
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : 
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 
As any thunderer there. And I can feel 
Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain 
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 



WILLIAM COWPEE. 325 

Reflect dishonor on the land I love. 

How in the name of soldiership and sense, ^^ 

Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 

And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er 

With odors, and as profligate as sweet ; 

Who sell theu" laurel for a myrtle wreath, 

And love when they should fight : when such as these ^^ 

Presume to lay their hand upon the ark 

Of her magnificent and awful cause ? 

Time was when it was praise and boast enough 

In every clime, and travel where we might. 

That we were born her children. Praise enough ^^ 

To fill th' ambition of a private man 

That Chatham's language was his mother-tongue, 

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 

Farewell those honors, and farewell with them 

The hope of such hereafter ! They have fallen, ^^^ 

Each in his field of glory ; one in arms. 

And one in council — Wolfe upon the lap 

Of smiling Victory that moment won. 

And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame ! 

They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still ^^ 

Consulting England's happiness at home, 

Secured it by an unforgiving frown, 

K any wronged her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, 

Put so much of his heart into his act. 

That his example had a magnet's force, ^^ 

And all were swift to follow whom aU loved. 

Those suns are set. O rise some other such ! 

Or all that we have left is empty talk 

Of old achievements and despair of new. 

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float ^^ 

Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, 
That no rude savor maritime invade 
The nose of nice nobility 1 Breathe soft, 
Ye clarionets ; and softer still, ye flutes ; ^^ 

That winds and waters, lulled by magic sounds, 
May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore. 
True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 
True, we may thank the perfidy of France, 



826 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

That j)icked the jewel out of England's crown, 
With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
And let that pass — 'twas but a trick of state — 
A brave man knows no malice, but at once 
Forgets in peace the injuries of war, 
And gives his du-est foe a friend's embrace. 
And shamed as we have been, to th' very beard 
Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved 
Too weak for those decisive blows that once 
Insured us mast'ry there, we yet retain 
Some small preeminence ; we justly boast 
At least superior jockeyship, and claim 
The honors of the turf as all our own ! 
Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, 
And show the shame ye might conceal at home, 
In foreign eyes ! — be grooms and win the plate, 
Wliere once your nobler fathers won a crown I 
'Tis gen'rous to communicate your skill 
To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd : 
And under such preceptors who can fail ? 

There is a pleasure in poetic pains, 
Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, 
Th' expedients and inventions multiform, 
To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms. 
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win — 
T' arrest the fleeting images, that fill 
The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, 
And force them sit, till he has penciled off 
A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; 
Then to dispose his copies with such art. 
That each may find its most propitious light, 
And shine by situation, hardly less 
Than by the labor and the skill it cost ; 
Are occupations of the poet's mind 
So pleasing, and that steal away the thought, 
With such address from themes of sad import, 
That, lost in his own musings, happy man I 
He feels the anxieties of life denied 
Their wonted entertainment ; aU retire. 
Such joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such, 
Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 



327 



w 



Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 

Aware of nothing arduoiis in a task 

They never undertook, they little note 

His dangers or escapes, and haply find 

Their least amusement where he found the most. 

But is amusement all ? Studious of song, 

And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 

I would not trifle merely, though the world 

Be loudest in their praise who do no more. 

Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay ? 

It may correct a foible, may chastise 

The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, 

Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch ; 

But where are its sublimer trophies found ? 

What vice has it subdued ? whose heart reclaimed 

By rigor, or whom laughed into reform ? 

Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed : 

Laughed at, he laughs again ; and stricken hard, 

Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales, 

That fear no discipline of human hands. 

The pulpit, therefore — (and I name it filled 
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 
With what intent I touch that holy thing) — 
The pulpit — (when the sat'rist has at last, 
Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school, 
Spent all his force, and made no proselyte) — 
I say the pulpit (in the sober use 
Of its legitimate pecuhar powers) 
Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand. 
The most important and effectual guard. 
Support, and ornament, of Virtue's cause. 
There stands the messenger of truth ; there stands 
The legate of the skies ! His theme divine, 
His oifice sacred, his credentials clear. 
By him the violated law speaks out 
Its thunders : and by him, in strains as sweet 
As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace. 
He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak, 
Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart, 
And, armed himself in panoply complete 
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms 



328 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule 
Of holy discipline, to glorious war 
The sacramental hosts of God's elect : 
Are all such teachers ? — would to Heaven aU were 1 
But hark — the doctor's voice ! — fast wedged between 
Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks 
Insjjires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 
Than all invective is his bold harangue, 
While through that public organ of report 
He hails the clergy ; and, defying shame, 
Announces to the world his own and theirs I 
He teaches those to read whom schools dismissed, 
And colleges, untaught : sells accent, tone, 
And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer 
Th' adagio and andante it demands. 
He grinds divinity of other days 
Down into modern use ; transforms old print 
To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 
Of gaU'ry critics by a thousand arts. 
Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware ? 
O, name it not in Gath ! — it cannot be. 
That grave and learned clerks should need such aid. 
He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, 
Assuming thus a rank unknown before — 
Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church I 
I venerate the man, whose heart is warm, 
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, 
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
That he is honest in the sacred cause. 
To such I render more than mere respect, 
Whose actions say that they respect themselves. 
But loose in morals and in manners vain. 
In conversation fi-ivolous, in dress 
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; 
Frequent in park with lady at his side. 
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; 
But rare at home, and never at his books, 
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card ; 
Constant at routs, familiar with a I'ound 
Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor ; 
Ambitious of preferment for its gold, 



WILLIAM COWPER. 329 

And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth. 

By infidelity and love of world, 

To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave ®** 

To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ; 

From such apostles, O ye mitred heads, 

Preserve the church ! and lay not careless hands 

On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. 

Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, ^^ 

Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
His master-strokes, and draw from his design. 
I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 
In doctrine uncorrupt i-^ in language plain, *** 

And plain in manner ;' decent, solemn, chaste. 
And natural in gesture ; much impressed 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge. 
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
May feel it too ; affectionate in look, ^"^ 

And tender in address, as well becomes 
A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
Behold the picture ! — Is it like ? — Lilce whom ? 
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip. 
And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ; ^^^ 

Cry — hem ; and, reading what they never wrote 
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, 
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene I 

In man or woman, but far most in man, 
And most of all in man that ministers *^^ 

And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
All afliectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn ; 
Object of my implacable disgust. 
What ! — will a man play tricks — will he indulge 
A silly fond conceit of his fair form, *^ 

And just proportion, fashionable mien. 
And pretty face, in presence of his God ? 
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
As with the diamond on his lily hand. 

And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, ^ 

When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
His noble office, and, instead of truth, 



330 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Displaying Ms own beauty, starves his flock. 

Therefore avaunt all attitude and stare, 

And start theatric, practiced at the glass ! 

I seek divine simplicity in him 

Who handles things divine ; and all besides. 

Though learned with labor, and though much admired 

By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed, 

To me is odious as the nasal twang 

Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, 

IVIisled by custom, strain celestial themes 

Through the pressed nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 

Some, decent in demeanor while they preach. 

That task performed, relapse into themselves ; 

And, having spoken wisely, at the close 

Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye. 

Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not ! 

Forth comes the pocket-mirror. Fu'st we stroke 

An eyebrow ; next compose a straggling lock ; 

Then, with an air most gracefully performed, 

Fall back into our seat, extend an arm. 

And lay it at its ease with gentle care. 

With handkercliief in hand depending low ; 

The better hand more busy gives the nose 

Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye 

With opera-glass, to watch the moving scene, 

And recognize the slow retiring fair. 

Now this is fulsome ; and offends me more 

Than in a chm'chman slovenly neglect 

And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 

May be indiiferent to her house of clay. 

And slight the hovel as beneath her care ; 

But how a body so fantastic, trim, 

And quaint in its deportment and attire. 

Can lodge a heavenly mind — demands a doubt. 

He that negotiates between God and man. 
As God's ambassador, the grand concerns 
Of judgment and of mercy, should beware 
Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful 
To court a grin, when you should woo a soul : 
To break a jest, when pity would inspire 
Pathetic exhortation ; and t' address 



WILLIAM COWPER. 331 

The skittish fancy with facetious tales, ^^^ 

When sent with God's commission to the heart ! 

So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 

Or merry turn in all he ever wrote, 

And I consent you take it for your text, 

Your only one, till sides and benches faU. *^* 

'No : he was serious in a serious cause, 

And understood too well the weighty terms, 

That he had ta'en in charge. He would not stoop 

To conquer those by jocular exploits. 

Whom truth and soberness assailed in vain. ^"^ 

O Popular Applause ! what heart of man 
Is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms ? 
The wisest and the best feel urgent need 
Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales ; 
But swelled into a gust — who, then, alas ! *^ 

With all his canvas set, and inexpert, 
And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power ? 
Praise from the rivelled lips of toothless, bald 
Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean 

And craving Poverty, and in the bow *** 

Respectful of the smutched artificer. 
Is oft too welcome and may much disturb 
The bias of the purpose. How much more, 
Poured forth by beauty splendid and polite, 
In language soft as Adoration breathes ? ^* 

Ah, spare your idol, think him human still. 
Charms he may have, but he has frailties too ! 
Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire. 

All truth is from the sempiternal source 
Of Ught divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome, ^''^ 

Drew from the stream below. More favored, we 
Drink when we choose it, at the fountain head. 
To them it flowed much mingled and defiled 
With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams 
Illusive of pliilosophy, so called, **^ 

But falsely. Sages after sages strove 
In vain to filter off a crystal draught 
Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced 
The tMi-st than slaked it, and not seldom bred 
Intoxication and delirium wild. ^^ 



332 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

In vain they pushed inquiry to the birth 

And spring-time of the world ; asked, Whence is man ? 

"Wliy formed at all ? and wherefore as he is ? 

Where must he find his Maker ? with what rites 

Adore him ? Will he hear, accept, and bless ? ' 

Or does he sit regardless of his works ? 

Has man within him an immortal seed ? 

Or does the tomb take all ? K he survive 

His ashes, where ? and in what weal or woe ? 

Knots worthy of solution, which alone ' 

A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague 

And aU at random, fabulous and dark, 

Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life 

Defective and unsanctioned, proved too weak 

To bind the roving appetite, and lead ' 

Blind nature to a God not yet revealed. 

'Tis Revelation satisfies aU doubts, 

Explains all mysteries, except her own, 

And so illuminates the path of life 

That fools discover it, and stray no more. ^ 

Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, 

My man of morals, nurtm-ed in the shades 

Of Academus — is this false or true ? 

Is Christ the abler teacher or the schools ? 

If Christ, then why resort at ev'ry turn ^ 

To Athens, or to Rome, for wisdom short 

Of man's occasions, when in him reside 

Grace, knoAvledge, comfort — an unfathomed store ? 

How oft, when Paul has served us with a text, 

Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preached ! ^ 

Men that, if now alive, would sit content 

And hiunble learners of a Saviour's worth, 

Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, 

Their thirst of knowledge, and their candor too. 

BOOK V. 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK, vv. 733-906. 

He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, 
And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain 
That hellish foes, confed'rate for his harm, ^' 

Can wind around him, but he casts it off 



WILLIAM COWPER. 333 

With as much ease as Samson his green withes. 

He looks abroad into the varied field 

Of nature, and though poor, perhaps, compared 

With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, ^^^ 

Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 

His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 

And the resplendent rivers. His t' enjoy , 

With a propriety that none can feel, 

But who, with filial confidence inspir'd, ^^ 

Can lift to heav'n an unpresumptuous eye, 

And smiling say — " My Father made them all ! " 

Are they not his by a peculiar right. 

And by an emphasis of int'rest his, 

Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, '* 

Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 

With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love. 

That planned, and built, and still upholds a world 

So clothed with beauty for rebellious man ? 

Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that reap ^^^ 

The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 

In senseless riot ; but ye will not find 

In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, 

A liberty like his, who, unimpeached 

Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, ''^ 

Appropriates nature as his Father's work, 

And has a richer use of yours than you. 

He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth 

Of no mean city ; planned or e'er the hills 

Were built, the fountains opened, or the sea, ^^ 

With all his roaring multitude of waves. 

His freedom is the same in ev'ry state ; 

And no condition of this changeful life. 

So manifold in cares, whose ev'ry day 

Brings its own evil with it, makes it less : ^^ 

For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain, 

Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 

No nook so narrow, but he spreads them there 

With ease, and is at large. Th' oppressor holds 

His body bound ; but knows not what a range "^ 

His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain ; 

And that to bind him is a vain attempt. 

Whom God delights in, and in whom He dwells. 



334 EEPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Acquaint thyself with God, if thou wouldst taste 
His works. Admitted once to his embrace, 
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before : 
Thine eye shall be instructed ; and thine heart, 
Made pure, shall relish with divine delight, 
Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. 
Brutes graze the mountain top, with faces prone, 
And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow, 
Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread 
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
From inland regions to the distant main. 
Man views it, and admires ; but rests content 
With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
But not its author. Unconcerned who formed 
The Paradise he sees, he finds it such, 
And such well pleased to find it, asks no more. 
Not so the mind that has been touched from Heav'n, 
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught 
To read His wonders, in whose thought the world, 
Fair as it is, existed ere it was. 
Nor for its own sake merely, but for his 
Much more who fashioned it, he gives it praise ; 
Praise that from earth resulting, as it ought, 
To earth's acknowledged sov'reign, finds at once 
Its only just proprietor in Him. 
The soul that sees him, or receives sublimed 
New faculties, or learns at least t' employ 
More worthily the powers she owned before. 
Discerns in sill things what, with stupid gaze 
Of ignorance, till then she overlooked, 
A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms 
Terrestrial in the vast and the minute ; 
The unambiguous footsteps of the God, 
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing. 
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. 
Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds 
With those fair ministers of light to man. 
That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, 
Sweet conference. Inquii-es what strains were they 
With which Heaven rang, when every star, in haste 



WILLIAM COWPER. 335 

To gratulate the new-created earth, ** 

Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God 

Shouted for joy. " Tell me, ye shining hosts, 

That navigate a sea that knows no storms. 

Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud. 

If from your elevation, whence ye view *^ 

Distinctly scenes invisible to man, 

And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet 

Have reached this nether world, ye spy a race 

Favored as ours ; transgressors from the womb 

And hasting to a grave, yet doomed to rise, ^^ 

And to possess a brighter Heaven than yours ? 

As one, who, long detained on foreign shores, 

Pants to return, and when he sees afar 

His country's weather-bleached and battered rocks. 

From the green wave emerging, darts an eye *'"' 

Radiant with joy toward the happy land ; 

So I with animated hopes behold, 

And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, 

That show like beacons in the blue abyss. 

Ordained to guide th' embodied spirit home ^** 

From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 

Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires 

That give assurance of their own success. 

And that, infused from Heaven, must thither tend." 

So reads he Nature, whom the lamp of truth ^ 

Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word ! 
Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost, 
With intellects bemazed in endless doubt. 
But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built 
With means that were not, till by thee employed, ^ 

Worlds that had never been, hadst thou in strength 
Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r 
And goodness infinite, but speak In ears 
That hear not, or receive not their report. ^' 

In vain thy creatures testify of thee. 
Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs Is Indeed 
A teaching voice ; but 'tis the praise of thine, 
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn, 
And with the boon gives talents for its use. ^ 



336 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Till thou art heard, iraaglnations vain 

Possess the heart ; and fables, false as hell, 

Yet deemed oracular, lure down to death 

The uninformed and heedless souls of men. 

We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, 

The glory of thy work ; which yet appears 

Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, 

Challenging human scrutiny, and proved 

Then skillful most when most severely judged. 

But chance Is not ; or Is not where thou reign'st : 

Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r 

(If pow'r she be, that works but to confound) 

To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 

Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 

Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 

Gods such as guilt makes welcome ; gods that sleep, 

Or disregard our follies, or that sit 

Amused spectators of this bustling stage. 

Thee we reject, unable to abide 

Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure, 

Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause, 

For which we shunned and hated thee before. 

Then we are free. Then liberty, like day. 

Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heaven 

Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 

A voice Is heard that mortal ears hear not. 

Till thou hast touched them ; 'tis the voice of song, 

A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works ; 

Which he that hears It, with a shout repeats. 

And adds his rapture to the general praise ! 

In that blest moment. Nature, throwing wide 

Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 

The author of her beauties, who, retired 

Behind his own creation, works unseen 

By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied : 

Thou art the source and centre of all minds. 

Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! 

From thee departing, they are lost, and rove 

At random, without honor, hope, or peace. 

From thee Is all that soothes the life of man. 

His high endeavor, and his glad success. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 337 

His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 

But O thou bounteous Giver of all good, 

Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! 

Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor ; ^'^^ 

And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON, vv. 729-817. 

The groans of Nature in this nether world, 
Which Heav'n has heard for ages, have an end. 
Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, 
Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, 
The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes. 
Six thousand years of sorrow have well nigh 
Fulfilled their tardy and disastrous course 
Over a sinful world ; and what remains 
Of this tempestuous state of human things 
Is merely as the working of a sea 
Before a calm that rocks itself to rest ; 
For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 
The dust that waits upon his sultry march, 
When sin hath moved him, and his wrath is hot. 
Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend 
Propitious in his chariot paved with love ; 
And what his storms have blasted and defaced 
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 

Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
Not to be wronged by a mere mortal touch ; 
Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
To meaner music, and not suffer loss. 
But when a poet, or when one like me, 
Happy to rove among poetic flow'rs. 
Though poor In skill to rear them, lights at last 
On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair,. 
Such Is the Impulse and the spur he feels, 
To give It praise proportioned to its worth, 
That not t' attempt It, arduous as he deems 
The labor, were a task more arduous still. 

O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, 
Scenes of accomplished bliss ! which who can see. 
Though but In distant prospect, and not feel 
22 



338 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

His soul refreshed ^1111 foretaste of the joy ? 
Kivers of gladness water all the earth, 
And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach 
Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 
Laughs with abundance ; and the land, once lean, 
Or fertile only in its own disgrace. 
Exults to see its thistly curse repealed. 
The various seasons woven into one. 
And that one season an eternal spring; 
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, 
For there is none to covet, all are full. 
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, 
Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon 
Together, or all gambol in the shade 
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream 
Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
Lurks in the serpent now ; the mother sees. 
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand 
Stretched forth to dally with the crested worm, 
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
One Lord, one Father. Error has no place ; 
That creeping pestilence is driv'n away ; 
The breath of Heav'n has chased it. In the heart 
No passion touches a discordant string. 
But all is harmony and love. Disease 
Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood 
Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 
One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
" Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us I " 
- The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
From distant mountains catch the flying joy, 
Till, nation after nation taught the strain, 
Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. 
Behold the measure of the promise filled ; 
See Salem built, the labor of a God ! 
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 
Flock to that light \ the glory of all lands 



WILLIAM COWPEB. 339 

Flows into her ; unbounded Is her joy, 

And endless her increase. Thy rams are there 

Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there ; ^* 

The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 

And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there. 

Praise is in all her gates ; upon her walls, 

And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, 

Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there ^^'' 

Kneels with the native of the farthest west ; 

And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, 

And worships. Her report has travelled forth 

Into all lands. From ev'ry clime they come 

To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, ®^ 

O Sion ! an assembly such as Earth 

Saw never, such as Heav'n stoops down to see. 

NOTES ON SELECTIONS FROM THE TASK. 

The selections from Cowper are designed to exhibit the leading qualities of the first 
of didactic poets in our literature. The nature of the theme, — the Sofa, — as given 
him by Lady Austin, suggestive of home scenes and experiences, to be presented in 
the freedom and desultoriness of daily domestic life, naturally led to a seeming 
immethodical treatment"of topics coming up one after another just in the way of 
every-day experience. It also as natuvally led to as great a diversity of sentimental 
expression, in which occur the freest humor and playfulness, running sometimes into 
the most biting irony and sarcasm, sometimes into the exuberance of merry fireside 
hilarity, and also mingled with this same humor and playfulness, the rapt awe and 
majesty of the sublimest religious hope and anticipation. 

In respect to the prosody — the poetic form of Cowper's verse — it is to be chiefly 
characterized as marking an epoc'' in our literature. While it is true that the poetic 
spirit had for some time shown itself restless under the despotism of outward form 
over idea which Pope had recommended by the grand achievements of his towering 
genius, the complete disenthrallment was consummated by Cowper. In his " Table 
Talk," among the first of his longer poems, he expresses his admiration for Pope, — 

" As harmony itself exact, 
In verse well disciplined, complete, compact," 

While at the same time he condemns his exaltation of the form side of poetry, as 
he adds : — 

" But he, his musical finesse was such, 
So nice his ear, so delicate his touch. 
Made poetry a mere mechanic art." 

Cowper's spirit was a free spirit, and it chafed under the fetters of versification 
which Pope had made fashion and law. His apostrophe in the "Table Talk " gives 
the clew to his poetic inspiration and to its soaring flight : — 

" O Liberty 1 the prisoner's pleasing dream. 
The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme; 
Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse ; 
Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse." 



340 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

The transition from Pope to Cowper is the change from poetic thralldom to poetic 
freedom. In the former you are held down to the severest rigor of rhythm, while 
yet you admire tlie grace, the finish, and the splendor of the chain which binds you. 
In the latter you find yourself let loose and range in freedom, unrestrained hut by 
the heautiful order that rules in the very nature of things. In reading Pope, one 
admires the wonderful subjection of the idea, the thought in its divers phases and 
relations, its qualities and its measures, to the exactions of the rhyme and the 
rhythm ; in Cowper, one admires the more wonderful incorporation of the idea into 
the perfect harmonies and melodies of words. One must read Pope with his atten- 
tion fixed on the rliythm ; he must read Cowper with his mind filled and prompted 
by the thought. There can hardly be supposed a wider contrast than the two 
present. 

The ear of Cowper was tuned to the most perfect melody and harmony ; while he 
aimed as a poet only to utter lofty, earnest, important thought, and pure and sweet 
and reverent emotion. To enjoy the melody and harmony of his verse, his thought 
and his feeling must be caught, and in the audible reading be expressed in their 
proper measures and relations, letting the verse take care of itself. For this reason, 
there is probably no poet in our literature who can be studied so profitably by the 
student of a pleasing and expressive prose diction. 

Book II. ver. 162. — Clieclter, a word derived from the principal piece in the 
old oriental game of chess, which in Persian was called shah, shaeh, or sheik — 
king. As the end of the play is the capture of the sheik or king, it is the rule in 
playing to give notice of the king's being exposed to be taken, by calling out sheik. 
Hence the former name of the game checker, as in Chaucer's " Dreame " : — 
" Therewith fortune said, cJiacke here, 
And mate in the mid-point of tlie checfcere." 

Mate signified dead ; check male signifies, therefore, etymologically, Jcing is dead. 
Our form of the word is from the Fr. cchec, as also exchequer from the Old Fr. 
eschequier, a clicss-board. Blackstone says the Court of Exchequer in England is so 
called " from the checked cloth resembling a chess-board which covers the table 
there, and on which, when certain of the king's accounts are made up, the sums 
are marked and scored with counters." The use of the word check in the sense to 
hinder originated from the same soui-ce. When a player called out sheik or check, 
his antagonist was hindered from carrying out any plan of movement in the game, 
and forced to put his sheik or king out of the danger to which he was exposed. 

183. Bile, A.-S. bil and byl, a blotch, a sore. This word has probably come to be 
spelled boil to distinguish it from bile, a secretion of the liver, from Lat. bilis. 

287, 238. Cliatliam, 'Wolfe. William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham, died May 11, 
1778. James Wolfe was killed in the battle on the Heights of Abraham before Que- 
bec, September 13, 1759. He was selected by Pitt to command the expedition for the 
overthrow of the French dominion in North America. 

BOOK V. ver. 764. — Or e'er. Or in this peculiar use is regarded as an adverb 
from the A.-S. aer, before. See C. T. 18, 36. 

805. Or receives, either receives. See n. Mandeville, 13. 

Book VI. ver. 805. Nebaiotli, Kedar. These " sons of Ishmael and progeni- 
tors of the Arabs in the prophetic Scripture here alluded to, may be reasonably 
considered as representatives of the Qentilen at large." Note, Eng. ed. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 341 



12. ALFEED TENNYSON, 1810 



Alfred Tennyson was the third child of Rev. George Clayton Tennyson, and 
■was born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, in 1810. He was educated at Trinity College, 
Cambridge, where in 1829 he received the Chancellor's medal for an English poem in 
blank verse, entitled " Timbuctoo." About the same time, with his brother Charles, 
he published privately " Poems by Two Brothers." In 1830 he published a volume 
entitled "Poems, chiefly Lyrical," containing his " Claribel," "Lilian," etc. In 
1833 he published a second volume, containing, besides some old compositions re- 
modeled, " The Miller's Daughter," "The May Queen," "The Lotos Eaters," and 
others. In 1842 he published two volumes, containing, with some of his previous 
compositions more or less changed, his " Morte d'Arthur," " Godiva," " Sir Gala- 
had," " Ulysses," " The Gardener's Daughter," " Locksley Hall," and others. In 
1847 appeared " The Princess, a Medley " ; and in 1850 the elegiac " In Memoriam," 
on the death of his friend Arthur Henry Hallam. On the death of Wordsworth he 
was appointed Poet Laureate. In 1855, he published " The Idyls of the King," four 
poems founded on the legends of King Arthur, entitled respectively " Enid," " Viv- 
ien," " Elaine," and " Guinevere." In 1864 he published a volume containing 
" Enoch Arden," with some other poems ; and in 1865 a selection from his works, 
containing old poems retouched with some new compo.sitions. 

ELAINE. 

Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, 

Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, 

High in a chamber up a tower to the East 

Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot ; 

Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray * 

Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam ; 

Then, fearing rust or soilure, fashioned for it 

A case of silk, and braided thereupon 

All the devices blazoned on the shield 

In their own tinct, and added, of her wit, ^*' 

A border fantasy of branch and flower. 

And yellow throated nestling in the nest. 

Nor rested thus content, but day by day, 

Leaving her household and good father, climbed 

That eastern tower, and entering barred her door, ^* 

Stript off the case, and read the naked shield ; 

Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms, 

Now made a pretty history to herself 

Of every dint a sword had beaten in It, 

And every scratch a lance had made upon it, ^ 

Conjecturing when and where ; this cut is fresh ; 

That ten years back ; this dealt him at Caerlyle ; 



342 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

That at Caerleoa ; this at Camelot : 
And ah ! God's mercy, what a stroke was there ! 
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God 
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down, 
And saved him : so she lived in fantasy. 

How came the lily maid by that good shield 
Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name ? 
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt 
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts. 
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name 
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize. 

For Arthur, when none knew from whence he came, 
Long ere the people chose him for their king. 
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse, 
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn. 
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave 
Like Its own mists to all the mountain side : 
For here two brothers, one a king, had met 
And fought together ; but their names were lost. 
And each had slain his brother at a blow, 
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred : 
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached, 
And llchened into color with the crags : 
And one of these, the king, had on a crown 
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside. 
And Arthur came, and laboring up the pass 
All in a misty moonshine, unawares 
Had trodden that crowned skeleton, and the skull 
Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown 
Rolled into light, and turning on Its rims 
Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn : 
And down the shingly scaur he plunged, and caught 
And set it on his head, and in his heart 
• Heard murmurs, " Lo, thou likewise shalt be king." 

Thereafter, when a king, he had the gems 
Plucked from the crown, and showed them to his knights, 
Saying, " These jewels, whereupon I chanced 
Divinely, are the kingdom's, not the king's — 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 343 

For public use : henceforward let there be, 

Once every year, a joust for one of these : 

For so by nine years proof we needs must learn 

Which is our mightiest, and ourselves shall grow 

In use of arms and manhood, till we drive ^ 

The Heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land 

Hereafter, which God hinder." Thus he spoke : 

And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and still 

Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year, 

With purpose to present them to the Queen, '" 

When all were won ; but meaning all at once 

To snare her royal fancy with a boon 

Worth half her realm, had never spoken word. 

Now for the central diamond and the last 

And largest, Arthur, holding then his court '* 

Hai'd on the river nigh the place which now 

Is this world's hugest, let proclaim a joust 

At Camelot, and when the time drew nigh 

Spake (for she had been sick) to Guinevere, 

" Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move ** 

To these fair jousts ? " " Yea, lord," she said, " you know 

it." 
" Then will you miss," he answered, " the great deeds 
Of Lancelot, and his prowess in the lists, 
A sight you love to look on." And the Queen 
Lifted her eyes, and they dwelt languidly ** 

On Lancelot, where he stood beside the king. 
He thinking that he read her meaning there, 
" Stay with me, I am sick ; my love is more 
Than many diamonds," yielded, and a heart, 
Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen ^ 

(However much he yearned to make complete 
The tale of diamonds for his destined boon). 
Urged him to speak against the truth, and say, 
" Sir King^ mine ancient wound is hardly whole, 
And lets me from the saddle : " and the king ^* 

Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way. 
No sooner gone than suddenly she began. 

" To blame, my lord Sir Lancelot, much to blame. 

Why go you not to these fair jousts ? the knights 

Are half of them our enemies, and the crowd **' 



344 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Will murmur, Lo the shameless ones, who take 
Their pastime now the trustful king is gone ! " 
Then Lancelot, vext at having lied in vain : 
" Are you so wise ? you were not once so wise, 
My Queen, that summer when you lo^v^d me first. 
Then of the crowd you took no more account 
Than of the myriad cricket of the mead, 
When its own voice clings to each blade of grass, 

And every voice is nothing. As to knights, 
Them surely can I silence with all ease. 
But now my loyal worship is allowed 
Of all men : many a bard, without offense, 
Has linked our names together in his lay, 
Lancelot, the flower of bravery, Guinevere, 
The pearl of beauty : and our knights at feast 
Have pledged us in this union, while the king 
Would listen smiling. How then ? is there more ? 
Has Arthur spoken aught ? or would youreelf, 
Now weary of my service and devoir. 
Henceforth be truer to your faultless lord ? " 

She broke into a little scornful laugh. 

" Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless king, 

That passionate perfection, my good lord — 

But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven ? 

He never spake word of reproach to me. 

He never had a glimpse of mine untruth, 

He cares not for me : only here to-day 

There gleamed a vague suspicion in his eyes : 

Some meddling rogue has tampered with him — else 

Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round 

And swearing men to vows impossible. 

To make them like himself; but, friend, to me 

He is all fault who hath no fault at all : 

For who loves me must have a touch of earth : 

The low sun makes the color : I am yours, 

Not Arthur's, as you know, save by the bond. 

And therefore hear my words : go to the jousts : 

The tiny-trumpeting gnat can break our dream 

When sweetest ; and the vermin voices here 

May buzz so loud — we scorn them, but they sting. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 345 

Then answered Lancelot — the chief of knights. 
" And with what face, after my pretext made, 
Shall I appear, O Queen, at Camelot, I 
Before a king who honors his own word, 
As if it were his God's ? " 

" Yea," said the Queen, ^^ 

A moral child without the craft to rule, 
Else had he not lost me : but listen to me, 
If I must find you wit : we hear it said 
That men go down before your spear at a touch 
But knowing you are Lancelot ; your great name, ^^ 

This conquers : hide it therefore ; go unknown : 
Win ! by this kiss you will, and our true king 
Will then allow your pretext, O my knight. 
As all for glory ; for to speak him true. 
You know right well, how meek soe'er he seem, ^^ 

No keener hunter after glory breathes. 
He loves it In his knights more than himself: 
They prove to him his work : win and return." 

Then got Sir Lancelot suddenly to horse. 

Wroth at himself: not willing to be known, ^^** 

He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare, 

Chose the green path that showed the rarer foot, 

And there among the solitary downs, 

Full often lost In fancy, lost his way. 

Tin as he traced a faintly-shadowed track, ^^ 

That all in loops and links among the dales 

Ran to the Castle of Astolat, he saw 

Fired from the west, far on a hill, the towers. 

Thither he made and wound the gateway horn. 

Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man, ^™ 

Who let him into lodging and disarmed. 

And Lancelot marveled at the wordless man : 

And Issuing found the Lord of Astolat 

With two strong sons. Sir Torre and Sir Lavaine, 

Moving to meet him In the castle court : ''* 

And close behind them stept the lily maid 

Elaine, his daughter : mother of the house 

There was not : some light jest among them rose 

With laughter dying down as the great knight 

Approached them : then the Lord of Astolat, ^^ 



346 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

" Whence comest thou, my guest, and by what name 

Livest between the h'ps ? for by thy state 

And presence I might guess thee chief of those, 

After the king, who eat in Arthur's halls. 

Him have I seen : the rest, his Table Round, ^^ 

Known as they are, to me they are unknown." 

Then answered Lancelot, the chief of knights, 
" Known am I, and of Arthur's hall, and known, 
What I by mere mischance have brought, my shield. 
But since I go to joust as one unknown 
At Camelot for the diamond, ask me not ; 
Hereafter you shall know me — and the shield — 
I pray you lend me one, if such you have, 
Blank, or at least with some device not mine." 

Then said the Lord of Astolat, " Here is Torre's : "^ 

Hurt in his first tilt was my son, Sir Torre. 

And so, God wot, his shield is blank enough. 

His you can have." Then added plain Sir Torre, 

" Yea, since I cannot use it, you may have It." 

Here laughed the father, saying, " Fie, Sir Churl, 

Is that an answer for a noble knight ? 

Allow him : but Lavaine, my younger here, 

He is so full of lustlhood, he will ride 

Joust for it, and win, and bring It In an hour 

And set it in this damsel's golden hair. 

To make her thrice as willful as before." 

" Nay, father — nay, good father — shame me not 
Before this noble knight," said young Lavaine, 
" For nothing. Surely I but played on Torre : 
He seemed so sullen, vext he could not go : 
A jest, no more : for, knight, the maiden dreamt 
That some one put this diamond in her hand. 
And that it was too slippery to be held. 
And slipt and fell into some pool or stream. 
The castle-well, belike ; and then I said 
That if I went and if I fought and won it 
(But all was joke and jest among ourselves) 
Then must she keep it safeller. All was jest. 
But father give me leave, an if he will. 



200 



205 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 347 

To ride to Camelot with this noble knight ; " ^™ 

Win shall I not, but do my best to win : 
Young as I am, yet would I do my best." 

" So you will grace me," answered Lancelot, 

Smiling a moment, " with your fellowship 

O'er these waste downs whereon I lost myself, ^^ 

Then were I glad of you as guide and friend ; 

And you shall win this diamond, — as I hear 

It is a fair large diamond, — if you may. 

And yield it to this maiden, if you will." 

" A fair large diamond," added plain Sir Torre, ^^ 

" Such be for Queens and not for simple maids." 

Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground, 

Elaine, and heard her name so tost about, 

Flushed slightly at the slight disparagement 

Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her, ^^ 

Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus returned : 

" If what is fair be but for what is fair. 

And only Queens are to be counted so, 

Rash were my judgment then, who deem this maid 

Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth, ^^ 

Not violating the bond of like to like." 

He spoke and ceased ; the lily maid Elaine, 

Won by the mellow voice before she looked, 

Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments. 

The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, ^*'^ 

In battle with the love he bare his lord, 

Had marred his face, and marked it ere his time. 

Another sinning on such heights, with one. 

The flower of all the West and all the world, 

Had been the sleeker for it ; but in him ^^ 

His mood was often like a fiend, and rose 

And drove him into wastes and solitudes 

For agony, who was yet a living soul. 

Marred as he was, he seemed the goodliest man 

That ever among ladies ate in hall, ^^ 

And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. 

However marred, of more than twice her years. 

Seamed with an ancient sword-cut on the cheek, 



348 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes 
And loved him, with that love which was her doom. 

Then the great knight, the darling of the court, 

Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall 

Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain 

Hid under grace, as in a smaller time, 

But kindly man moving among his kind : 

Whom they with meats and vintage of their best 

And talk and minstrel melody entertained. 

And much they asked of court and Table Round, 

And ever well and readily answered he : 

But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere, 

Suddenly speaking of the wordless man. 

Heard from the Baron that, ten years before, 

The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue. 

" He learnt and warned me of their fierce design 

Against my house, and him they caught and maimed ; 

But I, my sons and little daughter, fled 

From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods 

By the great river in a boatman's hut. 

Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke 

The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill." 

" O there, great Lord, doubtless," Lavaine said, rapt 

By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth 

Toward greatness in its elder, " you have fought. 

O tell us ; for we live apart — you know 

Of Arthur's glorious wars." And Lancelot spoke 

And answered him at full, as having been 

With Arthur in the fight which all day long 

Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem ; 

And in the four wild battles by the shore 

Of Duglas ; that on Bassa ; then the war 

That thundered In and out the gloomy skirts 

Of Celidon the forest ; and again 

By castle Gurnion where the glorious king 

Had on his cuirass worn our Lady's Head, 

■Carved of one emerald, centered in a sun 

Of silver rays, that lightened as he breathed ; 

And at Caerleon had he helped his lord. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 349 

When the strong neighings of the wild white horse 

Set every gilded parapet shuddering ; 

And up in Agned Cathregonion too, ^*' 

And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit, 

Where many a heathen fell. And on the mount 

Of Badon I myself beheld the king 

Charge at the head of aU his Table Round, 

And all his legions crying Christ and him, ^"^ 

And break them ; and I saw him, after, stand 

High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume 

Ked as the rising sun with heathen blood. 

And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, 

' They are broken, they are broken,' for the king, ^^^ 

However mild he seems at home, nor cares 

For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts — 

For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs, 

Saying, his knights are better men than he — 

Yet in this heathen war the fire of God ^^ 

Fills him : I never saw his like : there lives 

No greater leader." 

While he uttered this, 
Low to her own heart said the lily maid, 
" Save your great self, fair lord ; " and when he fell 
From talk of war to traits of pleasantry — ^^ 

Being mirthful he, but of a stately kind — 
She still took note that when the living smile 
Died from his lips, across him came a cloud 
Of melancholy severe, from which again, 
Whenever in her hovering to and fro ^^ 

The lily maid had striven to make him cheer, 
There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness 
Of manners and of nature ; and she thought 
That all was nature, all, perchance for her. 
And all night long his face before her lived, ^^ 

As when a painter, poring on a face. 
Divinely through all hindrance finds the man 
Behind it, and so paints him that his face, 
The shape and color of a mind and life, 
Lives for his children, ever at its best ^^ 

And fullest ; so the face before her lived, 
Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full 
Of noble things, and held her from her sleep. 



860 KEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Till rathe she rose, half cheated in the thought 

She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine. ^ 

First as in fear, step after step, she stole 

Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating : 

Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court, 

" This shield, my friend, where is it ? " and Lavaine 

Past inward, as she came from out the tower. ^^ 

There to his proud horse Lancelot turned, and smoothed 

The glossy shoulder, humming to liimself. 

Half envious of the flattering hand, she drew 

Nearer and stood. He looked, and more amazed 

Than if seven men had set upon him, saw ** 

The maiden standing in the dewy light. 

He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. 

Then came on him a sort of sacred fear, 

For silent, though he greeted her, she stood 

Rapt on his face as if it were a god's. ®^ 

Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire, 

That he should wear her favor at the tilt. 

She braved a riotous heart in asking for it. 

" Fair lord, whose name I know not, — noble it is, 

I well believe, the noblest, — will you wear ^ 

My favor at this tourney ? " " Nay," said he, 

" Fair lady, since I never yet have worn 

Favor of any lady in the lists. 

Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know." 

" Yea, so," she answered, " then in wearing mine ^ 

Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord, 

That those who know should know you." And he turned 

Her counsel up and down witliin his mind, 

And found it true, and answered, " True, my child. 

Well, I will wear it : fetch it out to me : ^^ 

What is it ? " and she told him, " A red sleeve 

Broidered with pearls," and brought it : then he bound 

Her token on his helmet, with a smile. 

Saying, " I never yet have done so much 

For any maiden living," and the blood ®^' 

Sprang to her face and filled her with delight ; 

But left her all the paler, when Lavaine 

Retm-ning brought the yct-unblazoned shield, 

His brother's ; which he gave to Lancelot, 

Who parted with his own to fair Elaine ; ^ 



ALFEED TENNYSON. 351 

" Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield 

In keeping till I come." " A grace to me," 

She answered, " twice to-day I am your squire ." 

Whereat Lavaine said laughing, " Lily maid, 

For fear our people call you lily maid ^^ 

In earnest, let me bring your color back ; 

Once, twice, and thrice : now get you hence to bed." 

So kissed her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand, 

And thus they moved away : she stayed a minute, 

Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there — ^^ 

Her bright hair blown about the serious face 

Yet rosy kindled with her brother's kiss — 

Paused in the gate-way, standing by the shield 

In silence, while she watched their arms far-off 

Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs. ^^^ 

Then to her tower she climbed, and took the shield. 
There kept it, and so lived in fantasy. 

Meanwhile the new companions past away 

Far o'er the long backs of the bushless downs, 

To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight *™ 

Not far from Camelot, now for forty years 

A hermit, who had prayed, labored and prayed, 

And ever laboring had scooped himself 

In the white rock a chapel and a hall 

On massive columns, like a shore cliif cave, *'^ 

And cells and chambers : all were fair and dry ; 

The green light from the meadows underneath 

Struck up and lived along the millcy roofs ; 

And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees 

And poplars made a noise of falling showers. ^^^ 

And thither wending there that night they bode. 

But when the next day broke from underground, 

And shot red fire and shadows through the cave, 

They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away : 

Then Lancelot saying, " Hear, but hold my name ^^^ 

Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake," 

Abashed Lavaine, whose instant reverence. 

Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise, 

But left him leave to stammer, " Is it indeed ? " 



352 KEPKESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And after muttering, " tlie great Lancelot," 

At last he got his breath and answered, " One 

One have I seen — that other, our liege lord 

The dread Pendragon, Britain's king of kings, 

Of whom the people talk mysteriously. 

He will be there — then were I stricken blind 

That minute, I might say that I had seen." 

So spake Lavaine, and when they rsached the lists 

By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes 

Run through the peopled gallery which half round 

Lay like a rainbow fall'n upon the grass, 

Until they found the clear-faced king, who sat 

Robed in red samite, easily to be known. 

Since to his crown the golden dragon clung, 

And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold, 

And from the carven-work behind him crept ■ 

Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make 

Arms for his chah, while all the rest of them 

Through knots and loops and folds innumerable 

Fled ever tlu-ough the woodwork, till they found 

The new design wherein they lost themselves, 

Yet with all ease, so tender was the work : 

And, in the costly canopy o'er him set. 

Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king. 

Then Lancelot answered young Lavaine and said, 

" Me you call great : mine is the firmer seat, 

The truer lance : but there is many a youth 

Now crescent, who will come to all I am 

And overcome it ; and in me there dwells 

No greatness, save it be some far-off touch 

Of greatness to know well I am not great : 

There is the man." And Lavaine gaped upon him 

As on a thing miraculous, and anon 

The trumpets blew ; and then did either side, 

They that assailed, and they that held the lists, 

Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move. 

Meet in the midst, and there so furiously 

Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive. 

If any map that day were left afield, 

The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms. 

And Lancelot bode little, till he saw 

Which were the weaker ; then he hurled into it 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 353 

Against tlie stronger : little need to speak 

Of Lancelot in Ms glory : king, duke, earl, 

Count, baron — whom he smote, he overthrew. 

But in the field were Lancelot's kith and kin, ^^ 

Ranged with the Table Round, that held the lists, 

Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight 

Should do and almost overdo the deeds 

Of Lancelot ; and one said to the other, " Lo ! 

What is he ? I do not mean the force alone, *™ 

The grace and versatility of the man — 

Is it not Lancelot ? " " When has Lancelot worn 

Favor of any lady in the lists ? 

Not such is wont, as we, that know him, know." 

" How then ? who then ? " a fury seized on them, ^^^ 

A fiery family passion for the name 

Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs. 

They couched their spears and prick'd their steeds and 

thus. 
Their plumes driv'n backward by the wind they made 
In moving, all together down upon him ^* 

Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North Sea, 
Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all 
Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, 
Down on a bark, and overbears the bark. 
And him that helms it, so they overbore *^ 

Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear 
Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear 
Prick'd sharply his own cuirass, and the head 
Pierced through his side ; and there snapt, and remained. 

Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully ; *^ 

He bore a knight of old repute to the earth. 
And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay. 
He up the side, sweating with agony, got, 
But thought to do while he might yet endure, 
And being lustily holpen by the rest, *^* 

His party — though it seemed half miracle 
To those he fought with — drave his kith and kin, 
And all the Table Round that held the lists. 
Back to the barrier ; then the heralds blew 
Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve ^"^ 

Of scarlet and the pearls ; and all the knights, 
23 



354 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONvS. 

His party, cried, " Advance ; and take jowc prize, 
The diamond ; " but he answered, " Diamond me 
No diamonds ! for God's love, a little air 1 
Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death I 
Hence wiU I, and I charge you, follow me not." 

He spoke, and vanished suddenly from the field 

With young Lavaine into the poplar grove. 

There from his charger down he slid, and sat, 

Gasping to Sir Lavaine, " Draw the lance-head : 

" Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot," said Lavaine, 

" I dread me, if I draw it, you will die." 

But he, " I die already with it ; draw — 

Draw — " and Lavaine drew : and that other gave 

A marvellous great shriek and ghastly groan, 

And half his blood burst forth, and down he sank 

For the pure pain, and wholly swooned away. 

Then came the hermit out and bare him in. 

There stanched his wound ; and there, in daily doubt, 

Wliether to live or die, for many a week 

Hid from the wide world's rumor by the grove 

Of poplars with theu' noise of falling showers, 

And ever tremulous aspen-trees, he lay. 

But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists. 

His party, knights of utmost North and West, 

Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate isles, 

Came round then- great Pendragon, saying to liim, 

" Lo, Sire, our knight through whom we won the day 

Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his prize 

Untaken, crying that his prize is death." 

" Heaven liinder," said the king, " that such an one. 

So great a knight as we have seen to-day — 

Pie seemed to me another Lancelot — 

Yea, twenty tunes I thought him Lancelot — 

He must not pass uncared for. Gawain, rise 

My nephew, and ride forth and find the knight. 

Wounded and wearied needs must he be near. 

I charge you that you get at once to horse. 

And, knights and kings, there breathes not one of you 

Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given ; 

His prowess was too wondrous. We will do him 



ALFRED TENNYSON". 355 

No customary honor : since the knight 

Came not to us, of us to claim the prize, 

Ourselves wUl send it after. Wherefore take 

This diamond, and deliver it, and return, ^ 

And bring us what he is and how he fares, 

And cease not from your quest until you find." 

So saying, from the carven flower above, 

To wliich it made a restless heart, he took, 

And gave, the diamond ; then from where he sat ^* 

At Arthur's right, with smiling face arose. 

With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince 

In the mid might and flourish of his May, 

Gawain, surnamed The Courteous, fair and strong, 

And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint ^^ 

And Lamorack, a good knight, but therewithal 

Sir Modred's brother, of a crafty house, 

Nor often loyal to his word, and now 

Wroth that the king's command to sally forth 

In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave ** 

The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings. 

So all in wrath he got to horse and went ; 

While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood, 

Past, thinking, " Is it Lancelot who has come 

Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain ^^ 

Of glory, and has added wound' to wound. 

And ridd'n away to die ? " So feared the king. 

And after two days' tarriance there, returned. 

Then when he saw the Queen, embracing asked, 

" Love, are you yet so sick ? " " Nay lord," she said. ^^^ 

" And where is Lancelot ? " then the Queen amazed, 

" Was he not with you ? won he not your prize ? " 

" Nay, but one like him." " Why, that like was he." 

And when the king demanded how she knew. 

Said, " Lord, no sooner had you parted fi-om us, ^^^ 

Than Lancelot told me of a common talk 

That men went down before his spear at a touch. 

But knowing he was Lancelot ; his great name 

Conquered ; and therefore would he liide his name 

From all men, ev'n the king, and to this end *^ 

Had made the pretext of a hindering wound. 



356 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

That he might joust unknown of all, and learn 

If his old prowess were in aught decayed : 

And added, ' Our true Arthur, when he learns, 

Will well allow my pretext, as for gain * 

Of purer glory.' " 

Then replied the king : 
" Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been, 
In Ueu of idly dallying with the truth. 
To have trusted me as he has trusted you. 
Surely his king and most familiar friend ^ 

Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed, 
Albeit I know my knights fantastical. 
So fine a fear in our large Lancelot 
Must needs have moved my laughter ; now remains 
But httle cause for laughter ; his own kin — *' 

HI news, my Queen, for all who love him, these ! 
His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him ; 
So that he went sore wounded from the field ; 
Yet good news too : for goodly hopes are mine 
That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart. ® 

He wore, against his wont, upon his helm 
A sleeve of scarlet, broidered with great pearls : 
Some gentle maiden's gift." 

" Yea, Lord," she said, 
" Your hopes are mine," and saying that she choked, 
And sharply tm-ned about to hide her face, '^ 

Moved to her chamber, and there flung herself 
Down on the great king's couch, and writhed upon it. 
And clenched her fingers till they bit the palm, 
And shrieked out " traitor " to the unhearing Avail ; 
Then flashed into wild tears, and rose again, '^ 

And moved about her palace, proud and pale. 

Gawain the while through all the region round 

Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest, 

Touched at all points, except the poplar grove, 

And came at last, though late, to Astolat. ^ 

"Whom glittering in enameled arms the maid 

Glanced at, and cried, " What news from Camelot, lord ? 

What of the knight with the red sleeve ? " " He won." 

" I knew it," she said. " But parted from the jousts 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 357 

Hurt in the side," whereat she caught her breath ; *^ 

Through her own side she felt the sharp lance go ; 

Thereon she smote her hand : well-nigh she swooned : 

And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came 

The lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prince 

Reported who he was, and on what quest ^^ 

Sent ; that he bore the prize and could not find 

The victor, but had ridden wUdly round 

To seek him, and was wearied of the search. 

To whom the lord of Astolat, " Bide with us 

And ride no longer wildly, noble Prince ! ^^ 

Here was the knight, and here he left a shield ; 

This wUl he send or come for : furthermore 

Our son is with him ; we shall hear anon. 

Needs must we hear." To this the courteous Prince 

Accorded with his wonted courtesy, ^^ 

Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it, 

And stayed ; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine — 

Where could be found face daintier ? then her shape 

From forehead down to foot jjerfect — again 

From foot to forehead exquisitely turned : ^*' 

" Well — if I bide, lo ! this wild flower for me ! " 

And oft they met among the garden yews. 

And there he set himself to play upon her. 

With sallying wit, free flashes from a height 

Above her, graces of the court, and songs, ^^ 

Sighs, and slow smiles, and golden eloquence 

And amorous adulation, till the maid 

Rebelled against it, saying to him, " Prince, 

O loyal nephew of our noble king. 

Why ask you not to see the shield he left, ^^ 

Whence you might learn his name ? Why slight your king, 

And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove 

No surer than our falcon yesterday, 

Who lost the hern we slipt him at, and went 

To all the winds ? " " Nay, by mine head," said he, ^* 

" I lose it, as we lose the lark in heaven, 

O damsel, in the light of your blue eyes : 

But an you will it let me see the shield." 

And when the shield was brought, and Gawain saw 

Sir Lancelot's azure lions, crowned with gold, ®™ 



358 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Ramp in the field, he smote his thigh, and mocked : 

" Right was the king ! our Lancelot ! that true man ! " 

" And right was I," she answered merrily, " I, 

Who dreamed my knight the greatest knight of all." 

" And if I dreamed," said Gawain, " that you love 

This greatest knight, your pardon ! lo, you know it ; 

Speak, therefore : shall I waste myself in vain ? " 

Full simple was her answer, " What know I ? 

My brethren have been all my fellowship, 

And I, when often they have talked of love, 

Wished it had been my mother, for they tallied, 

Meseemed, of what they knew not ; so myself — 

I know not if I laiow what true love is, 

But if I know, then, if I love not him, 

Methinks there is none other I can love." 

" Yea, by God's death," said he, " you love him well, 

But would not, knew you what all others know, 

And whom he loves." " So be it," cried Elaine, 

And lifted her fair face and moved away : 

But he pursued her, calling, " Stay a little ! 

One golden minute's grace : he wore your sleeve : 

Would he break faith with one I may not name ? 

Must our true man change like a leaf at last ? 

May it be so ? why then, far be it from me 

To cross our mighty Lancelot in his loves ! 

And, damsel, for I deem you know full well 

Where your great knight is hidden, let me leave 

My quest with you ; the diamond also : here ! 

For if you love, it will be sweet to give it ; 

And if he love, it will be sweet to have it 

From your own hand ; and whether he love or not, 

A diamond is a diamond. Fare you well 

A thousand times ! — a thousand times farewell ! 

Yet, if he love, and his love hold, we two 

May meet at court hereafter : there, I think, 

So you will leai'n the courtesies of the court. 

We two shall know each other." 

Then he gave, 
And slightly kissed the hand to which he gave, 
The diamond, and all wearied of the quest, 



ALFRED TENNYSON. ' 359 

Leapt on his horse, and caroling as he went '** 

A true-love ballad, lightly rode away. 

Thence to the court he past ; there told the king, 

What the king knew, " Sir Lancelot is the knight." 

And added, " Sire, my liege, so much I learnt ; 

But failed to find him, though I rode all round ''°^ 

The region : but I lighted on the maid, 

Whose sleeve he wore ; she loves him : and to her, 

Deeming our courtesy is the truest law, 

I gave the diamond : she will render it ; 

For by mine head she knows his hiding-place." ^^'^ 

The seldom-frowning king frowned, and replied, 
" Too courteous truly ! you shall go no more 
On quest of mine, seeing that you forget 
Obedience is the courtesy due to kings." 

He spake and parted. Wroth but all in awe, '^ 

For twenty strokes of the blood, without a word, 

Lingered that other, staring after him ; 

Then shook his hair, strode off, and buzzed abroad 

About the maid of Astolat, and her love. 

All ears were prick'd at once, all tongues were loosed : '^' 

" The maid of Astolat loves Sir Lancelot, 

Sir Lancelot loves the maid of Astolat." 

Some read the king's face, some the Queen's, and all 

Had marvel what the maid might be, but most 

Predoomed her as unworthy. One old dame ^^ 

Came suddenly on the Queen with the sharp news. 

She, that had heard the noise of it before, 

But sorrowing Lancelot should have stooped so low. 

Marred her friend's point with pale tranquillity. 

So ran the tale like fire about the court, '^ 

Fire in dry stubble a nine days' wonder flared : 

Till ev'n the knights at banquet twice or thrice 

Forgot to drink to Lancelot and the Queen. 

And pledging Lancelot and the lily maid 

Smiled at each other, while the Queen who sat ^^ 

With lips severely placid, felt the knot 



360 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Climb in her throat, and with her feet unseen 
Crushed the wild passion out against the floor 
Beneath the banquet, where the meats became 
As wormwood, and she hated all who pledged. 

But far away the maid in Astolat, 

Her guiltless rival, she that ever kept 

The one-day-seen Sir Lancelot in her heart, 

Crept to her father, while he mused alone, 

Sat on his knee, stroked his gray face and said, 

" Father, you call me willful, and the fault 

Is yours, who let me have my will, and now, 

Sweet father, will you let me lose my wits ? " 

" Nay," said he, " surely." " Wherefore let me hence," 

She answered, " and find out our dear Lavaine." 

" You will not lose your wits for dear Lavaine : 

Bide," answered he : " we needs must hear anon 

Of him and of that other." " Ay," she said, 

" And of that other, for I needs must hence 

And find that other, wheresoe'er he be. 

And with mine own hand give his diamond to him, 

Lest I be found as faithless in the quest 

As yon proud prince who left the quest to me. 

Sweet father, I behold him in my dreams 

Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself, 

Death-pale, for lack of gentle maiden's aid. 

The gentler-born the maiden, the more bound. 

My father, to be sweet and serviceable 

To noble knights in sickness, as you know, 

When these have worn their tokens : let me hence, 

I pray you." Then her father nodding said, 

" Ay, ay, the diamond : wit you well, my child. 

Right fain were I to learn this knight were whole. 

Being our greatest : yea, and you must give it — 

And sure I think this fruit is hung too high 

For any mouth to gape for save a Queen's — 

Nay, I mean nothing ; so then, get you gone. 

Being so very willful you must go." 

Lightly, her suit allowed, she slipt away, 
And while she made her ready for her ride. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 361 

Her father's latest word hummed in her ear, 

" Being so very willful you must go." 

And changed itself and echoed in her heart, 

" Being so very willful you must die." 

But she was happy enough and shook it off, ''^ 

As we shake off the bee that buzzes at us ; 

And in her heart she answered it and said, 

" What matter, so I help him back to life ? " 

Then far away with good Sir Torre for guide 

B,ode o'er the long backs of the bushless downs ''^ 

To Camelot, and before the city-gates 

Came on her brother with a happy face 

Making a roan horse caper and curvet 

For pleasure all about a field of flowers : 

Whom when he saw, " Lavaine," she cried, " Lavaine, ^^ 

How fares my lord Sir Lancelot ? " He amazed, 

" Torre and Elaine ! why here ? Sir Lancelot ! 

How know you my lord's name is Lancelot ? " 

But when the maid had told him all her tale. 

Then turned Sir Torre, and being in his moods ^^ 

Left them, and under the strange-statued gate, 

Where Arthur's wars were rendered mystically, 

Past up the still rich city to his kin, 

His own far blood, which dwelt at Camelot ; 

And her Lavaine across the poplar groves ^"^ 

Led to the caves : there first she saw the casque 

Of Lancelot on the wall ; her scarlet sleeve, 

Though carved and cut, and half the pearls away, 

Streamed from it still ; and in her heart she laughed, 

Because he had not loosed it from his helm, *^ 

But meant once more perchance to tourney in it. 

And when they gained the cell in which he slept. 

His battle-writhen arms and mighty hands 

Lay naked on the wolf-skin, and a dream 

Of dragging down his enemy made them move. ^^'^ 

Then she that saw him lying unsleek, unshorn, 

Gaunt as it were the skeleton of himself, 

Uttered a little tender dolorous cry. 

The sound not wonted in a place so still 

Woke the sick knight, and while he rolled his eyes *" 

Yet blank from sleep, she started to him, saying, 



362 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

" Your prize, the diamond sent you by the king : " 

His eyes glistened, she fancied. " Is it for me ? " 

And when the maid had told him all the tale 

Of king and prince, the diamond sent, the quest 

Assigned to her not worthy of it, she knelt 

Full lowly by the corners of his bed, 

And laid the diamond in his open hand. 

Her face was near, and as we kiss the child 

That does the task assigned, he kissed her face. 

At once she slipt like water to the floor. 

" Alas," he said, " your ride has wearied you. 

Eest must you have." " No rest for me," she said : 

" Nay, for near you, fair lord, I am at rest." 

What might she mean by that ? his large black eyes, 

Yet lai^er through his leanness, dwelt upon her, 

Till all her heart's sad secret blazed itself 

In the heart's colors on her simple face ; 

And Lancelot looked and was perplext in mind, 

And being weak in body said no more ; 

But did not love the color ; woman's love, 

Save one, he not regarded, and so turned 

Sighing, and feigned a sleep until he slept. 

Then rose Elaine and glided through the fields, 

And past beneath the wildly-sculptured gates 

Far up the dim rich city to her kin •, 

There bode the night : but woke with dawn, and past 

Down through the dim rich city to the fields, 

Thence to the cave : so day by day she past 

In either twilight ghost-like to and fro 

Gliding, and every day she tended him, 

And likewise many a night : and Lancelot 

Would, though he called his wound a little hurt 

Whereof he should be quickly whole, at times 

Brain-feverous in his heat and agony, seem 

Uncourteous, even he : but the meek maid 

Sweetly forbore him evei-, being to him 

Meeker than any child to a rough nurse, 

Milder than any mother to a sick child. 

And never woman yet, since man's first fall, 

Did kindlier unto man, but her deep love 



825 



830 



835 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 363 

Upbore her : till the hermit, skilled in all 

The simples and the science of that time, 

Told him that her fine care had saved his life 

And the sick man forgot her simple blush, ®^ 

Would call her friend and sister, sweet Elaine, 

Would listen for her coming, and I'egret 

Her parting step, and held her tenderly, 

And loved her with all love except the love 

Of man and woman when they love their best *^ 

Closest and sweetest, and had died the death 

In any knightly fashion for her sake. 

And peradventure had he seen her first 

She might have made this and that other world 

Another world for the sick man : but now ^™ 

The shackles of an old love straitened him, 

His honor rooted in dishonor stood. 

And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true. 

Yet the great knight in his mid-sickness made 

Full many a holy vow and pure resolve. ^^^ 

These, as but born of sickness, could not live : 

For when the blood ran lustier in him again, 

Full often the sweet image of one face. 

Making a treacherous quiet in his heart. 

Dispersed his resolution like a cloud. ^^ 

Then if the maiden, while that ghostly grace 

Beamed on his fancy, spoke, he answered not. 

Or short and coldly, and she knew right well 

What the rough sickness meant, but what this meant 

She knew not, and the sorrow dimmed her sight, ®^ 

And drove her ere her time across the fields 

Far into the rich city, where alone 

She murmured, " Vain, in vain : It cannot be. 

He will not love me : how then ? must I die ? " 

Then as a little helpless innocent bird ^'^ 

That has but one plain passage of few notes, 

Will sing the simple passage o'er and o'er 

For all an April morning, till the ear 

Wearies to hear it, so the simple maid 

Went half the night repeating, " Must I die ? " ^ 

And now to right she turned, and now to left. 

And found no ease in turning or in rest ; 



364 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And " him or death," she muttered, " death or him," 

Again and like a burthen, " him or death." 

But when Sir Lancelot's deadly hurt was whole, 

To Astolat returning rode the three. 

There morn by morn, arraying her sweet self 

In that whei-ein she deemed she looked her best, 

She came before Sir Lancelot, for she thought, 

" If I be loved, these are my festal robes. 

If not, the victim's flowers before he fall." 

And Lancelot ever prest upon the maid 

That she should ask some goodly gift of him 

For her own self or hers : " And do not shun 

To speak the wish most near to your true heart ; 

Such service have you done me, that I make 

My will of yours, and Prince and Lord am I 

In mine own land, and what I will I can." 

Then like a ghost she lifted up her face. 

But like a ghost without the power to speak. 

And Lancelot saw that she withheld her wish. 

And bode among them yet a little space 

Till he should learn it ; and one morn it chanced 

He found her in among the garden yews, 

And said, " Delay no longer, speak your wish. 

Seeing I must go to-day : " then out she brake : 

" Going ? and we shall never see you more, 

And I must die for want of one bold word." 

" Speak : that I live to hear," he said, " is yours." 

Then suddenly and passionately she spoke : 

" I have gone mad. I love you : let me die." 

" Ah, sister," answered Lancelot, " what is this ? " 

And innocently extending her white arms, 

" Your love," she said, " your love — to be your wife." 

And Lancelot answered, " Had I chos'n to wed 

I had been wedded earlier, sweet Elaine : 

But now there never will be wife of mine." 

" No, no," she cried, " I care not to be wife. 

But to be with you still, to see your face. 

To serve you, and to follow you through the world." 

And Lancelot answered, " Nay, the world, the world, 

All ear and eye, with such a stupid heart 

To interpret ear and eye, and such a tongue 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 365 

To blare its own Interpretation — nay, 

Full 111 then should I quit your brother's love, ^^ 

And your good father's kindness." And she said, 

" Not to be with you, not to see your face — 

Alas for me then, my good days are done." 

" Nay, noble maid," he answered, " ten times nay ! 

This Is not love : but love's first flash In youth, ^* 

Most common. Yea, I know It of mine own self : 

And you yourself will smile at your own self 

Hereafter, when you yield your flower of life 

To one more fitly yours, not thrice your age : 

And then will I, for true you are and sweet ^™ 

Beyond mine old belief in womanhood — 

More especially should your good knight be poor, 

Endow you with broad land and territory 

Even to the half of my realm beyond the seas, 

So that would make you happy : furthermore, ®^ 

Even to the death, as though you were my blood, 

In all your quarrels will I be your knight. 

This will I do, dear damsel, for your sake, 

And more than this I cannot." 

While he spoke 
She neither blushed nor shook, but deathly pale ^^ 

Stood grasping what was nearest, then replied : 
" Of all this will I nothing," and so fell, 
And thus they bore her swooning to her tower. 

Then spake, to whom through those black walls of yew 
Their talk had pierced, her father, " Ay, a flash ^'^ 

I fear me, that will strike my blossom dead. 
Too courteous are you, fair Lord Lancelot, 
I pray you, use some rough discourtesy 
To blunt or break her passion." 

Lancelot said, 
" That were against me : what I can I will ; " ^° 

And there that day remained, and toward even 
Sent for his shield : full meekly rose the maid, 
Strlpt off the case, and gave the naked shield ; 
Then, when she heard his horse upon the stones, 
Unclasping flung the casement back, and looked ^* 

Down on his helm, from which her sleeve had gone. 



366 REPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And Lancelot knew the little clinking sound ; 
And she by tact of love was well aware 
That Lancelot knew that she was looking at him. 
And yet he glanced not up, nor waved his hand, 
Nor bade farewell, but sadly rode away. 
This was the one discourtesy that he used. 

So in her tower alone the maiden sat : 
His very shield was gone ; only the case, 
Her own poor work, her empty labor, left. 
But still she heard him, still his picture formed 
And grew between her and the pictured Avail. 
Then came her father, saying in low tones, 
" Have comfort," whom she greeted quietly ; 
Then came her brethren, saying, " Peace to thee, 
Sweet sister," whom she answered with all calm. 
But when they left her to herself again. 
Death, like a friend's voice from a distant field 
Approaching through the darkness, called ; the owls' 
Wailing had power upon her, and she mixt 
Her fancies with the sallow-rifted glooms 
Of evening, and the moanings of the wind. 

And in those days she made a little song. 

And called her song, " The Song of Love and Death," 

And sang it : sweetly could she make and sing. 

" Sweet is true love though given in vain, in vain ; 
And sweet is death who puts an end to pain : 
I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 

" Love, aj't thou sweet ? then bitter death must be : 
Love, thou art bitter : sweet is death to me. 

Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 

" Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away. 
Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay, 

1 know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 

" I fain would follow love, if that could be ; 
I needs must follow death, who calls for me ; 
Call and I follow, I follow ! — let me die." 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 367 

High -with the last line sealed her voice, and this, 

All in a fieiy dawning wild with wind 

That shook her tower, the brothers heard, and thought, ^"^^ 

With shuddering, " Hark, the Phantom of the house 

That ever shrieks before a death," and called 

The father, and all three in hurry and fear 

Ran to her, and lo ! the blood-red light of dawn 

Flared on her face, she shrilling, " Let me die ! " ^'^^'^ 

As when we dwell upon a word we know, 

Repeating, till the word we know so well 

Becomes a wonder and we know not why, 

So dwelt the father on her face and thought, 

" Is this Elaine ? " till back the maiden fell, '^"^ 

Then gave a languid hand to each, and lay, 

Speaking a still good-morrow with her eyes. 

At last she said, " Sweet brothers, yesternight 

I seemed a curious little maid again, 

As happy as when we dwelt among the woods, ^'^ 

And when you used to take me with the flood 

Up the great river in the boatman's boat, 

Only you would not pass beyond the cape 

That has the poplar on it : there you fixt 

Your limit, oft returning with the tide. ^'^ 

And yet I cried because you would not pass 

Beyond it, and far up the shining flood 

Until we found the palace of the king. 

And yet you would not ; but this night I dreamed 

That I was all alone upon the flood, ^'^ 

And then I said, ' Now shall I have my will : ' 

And there I woke, but still the wish remained. 

So let me hence that I may pass at last 

Beyond the poplar and far up the flood, 

Until I find the palace of the king. ^*'*' 

There will I enter in among them all, 

And no man there will dare to mock at me ; 

But there the fine Gawain will wonder at me. 

And there the great Sir Lancelot muse at me ; 

Gawain, who bade a thousand farewells to me, ^"^^ 

Lancelot, who coldly went, nor bade me one. 

And there the King will know me and my love, 



368 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And there tlie Queen herself will pity me, 
And all the gentle court wUl welcome me, 
And after my long voyage I shall rest I " 

" Peace," said her father, " O my child ! you seem 
Light-headed, for what force is yours to go 
So far, being sick ? and wherefore would yon look 
On this proud fellow again, who scorns us all ? " 

Then the rough Torre began to heave and move, 

And bluster into stormy sobs, and say, 

" I never loved him : an I meet with him, 

I care not howsoever great he be. 

Then wUl I strike at him and strike him down, 

Give me good fortune, I will strike him dead. 

For this discomfort he hath done the house." 

To which the gentle sister made reply, 

" Fret not yourself, dear brother, nor be wroth. 

Seeing it is no more Sir Lancelot's fault 

Not to love me, than it is mine to love 

Him of all men who seems to me the highest." 

" Highest? " the father answered, echoing " highest? " 
(He meant to break the passion in her), " nay, 
Daughter, I know not what you call the highest ; 
But this I know, for all the people know it. 
He loves the Queen, and in an open shame, 
And she returns his love in open shame. 
If this be high, what is it to be low ? " 

Then spake the lily maid of Astolat : 

" Sweet father, aU too faint and sick am I 

For anger : these are slanders : never yet 

Was noble man but made ignoble talk. 

He makes no friend who never made a foe. 

But now it is my glory to have loved 

One peerless, without stain : so let me pass, 

My father, howsoe'er I seem to you. 

Not all unhappy, having loved God's best 

And greatest, though my love had no return : 

Yet, seeing you desire your child to live, 



106S 



1086 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 369 

Thanks, but you work against your own desire ; ^'^ 

For if I could believe the things you say 
I should but die the sooner ; wherefore cease, 
Sweet father, and bid call the ghostly man 
Hither, and let me shrive me clean, and die." 

So when the ghostly man had come and gone, ^"^^ 

She with a face, bright as for sin forgiven, 

Besought Lavaine to write as she devised 

A letter, word for word : and when he asked, 

" Is it for Lancelot, is it for my dear lord ? 

Then will I bear it gladly : " she replied, *'"" 

" For Lancelot and the Queen and all the world, 

But I myself must bear it." Then he wrote 

The letter she devised ; which being writ 

And folded, " O sweet father, tender and true, 

Deny me not," she said — " you never yet ^'"^ 

Denied my fancies — this, however strange, 

My latest : lay the letter in my hand 

A little ere I die, and close the hand 

Upon it ; I shall guard it even in death. 

And when the heat is gone from out my heart, ^"^^ 

Then take the little bed on which I died 

For Lancelot's love, and deck it like the Queen's 

For richness, and me also like the Queen 

In all I have of rich, and lay me on it. 

And let there be prepared a chariot-bier ^^ 

To take me to the river, and a barge 

Be ready on the river, clothed in black. 

I go in state to court, to meet the Queen. 

There surely I shaU speak fbr mine own self, 

And none of you can speak for me so well. "* 

And therefore let one dmnb old man alone 

Go with me, he can steer and row, and he 

Will guide me to that palace, to the doors." 

She ceased : her father promised ; whereupon 
She grew so cheerfiil that they deemed her death ^^^ 

Was rather in the fantasy than the blood. 
But ten slow mornings past, and on the eleventh 
Her father laid the letter in her hand, 
24 



370 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And closed the hand upon it, and she died. 
So that day there was dole in Astolat. 

But when the next sun brake from underground, 

Then, those two brethren slowly with bent brows 

Accompanying, the sad chariot-bier 

Past like a shadow thi'ough the field, that shone 

Full-summer, to that stream whereon the barge, 

Palled all its length in blackest samite, lay. 

There sat the lifelong creature of the house, 

Loyal, the dumb old servitor, on deck. 

Winking his eyes, and twisted all his face. 

So those two brethren from the chariot took 

And on the black decks laid her on her bed, 

Set in her hand a lily, o'er her hung 

The silken case with braided blazonings. 

And kissed her quiet brows, and saying to her, 

" Sister, farewell for ever," and again, 

" Farewell, sweet sister," parted all in tears. 

Then rose the dumb old servitor, and the dead 

Steered by the dumb went upward with the flood - 

In her right hand the lily, in her left 

The letter — all her bright hair streaming down, 

And all the coverlid was cloth of gold 

Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white 

All but her face, and that clear-featured face 

Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead, 

But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled. 

That day Sir Lancelot at the palace craved 
Audience of Guinevere, to give at last 
The price of half a realm, his costly gift. 
Hard-won and hardly won with bruise and blow, 
With deaths of others, and almost his own. 
The nine-years-fought-for diamonds : for he saw 
One of her house, and sent him to the Queen 
Bearing his wish, whereto the Queen agreed 
With such and so unmoved a majesty 
She might have seemed her statue, but that he, 
Low-drooping tiU he well-nigh kissed her feet 
For loyal awe, saw with a sidelong eye 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 371 

The shadow of a piece of pointed lace, 

In the Queen's shadow, vibrate, on the walls, 

And parted, laughing in his courtly heart. ^^^'^ 

All in an oriel on the summer side. 

Vine-clad, of Arthur's palace toward the stream, 

They met, and Lancelot kneeling uttered, " Queen, 

Lady, my liege, in whom I have my joy. 

Take what I had not won except for you, *^^^ 

These jewels, and make me happy, making them 

An armlet for the roundest arm on earth. 

Or necklace for a neck to which the swan's 

Is tawnier than her cygnets' : these are words : 

Your beauty is your beauty, and I sin "^ 

In speaking, yet O grant my worship of it 

Words, as we grant brief tears. Such sin in words, 

Perchance, we both can pardon : but, my Queen, 

I hear of rumors flying through your court. 

Our bond, as not the bond of man and wife, ^^^ 

Should have in it an absoluter trust 

To make up that defect : let rumors be : 

When did not rumors fly ? these, as I trust 

That you trust me in your own nobleness, 

I may not well believe that you believe." "** 

While thus he spoke, half-turned away, the Queen 

Brake from the vast oriel-embowering vine 

Leaf after leaf, and tore, and cast them off. 

Till all the place whereon she stood was green ; 

Then when he ceased, in one cold passive hand ^^^ 

Received at once, and laid aside, the gems 

There on a table near her, and replied. 

" It may be, I am quicker of belief 

Than you believe me, Lancelot of the Lake. 

Our bond is not the bond of man and wife. **" 

This good is in it, whatsoe'er of ill, 

It can be broken easier. I for you 

This many a year have done despite and wrong 

To one whom ever in my heart of hearts 

I did acknowledge nobler. What are these ? ^^"^ 



372 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Diamonds for me ? tliey had been thi'ice their worth 

Being your gift, had you not lost your own. 

To loyal hearts the value of all gifts 

Must vary as the giver's. Not for me ! 

For her ! for your new fancy. Only this ^^^ 

Grant me, I pray you : have your joys apart. 

I doubt not that however changed, you keep 

So much of what is graceflil : and myself 

Would shun to break those bounds of courtesy 

In which as Arthur's queen I move and rule : ^^'^ 

So cannot speak my mind. An end to this ! 

A strange one ! yet I take it with Amen. 

So pray you, add my diamonds to her pearls ; 

Deck her with these ; tell her, she shines me down. 

An armlet for an arm to which the Queen's ^^* 

Is haggard, or a necklace for a neck 

O as much fairer — as a faith once fair 

Was richer than these diamonds — hers, not mine — 

Nay, by the mother of our Lord himself. 

Or hers or mine, mine now to work my will — ^^^ 

She shall not have them." 

Saying which she seized, 
And, through the casement standing wide for heat, 
Flung them, and down they flashed, and smote the stream, 
Then from the smitten surface flashed, as it were, 
Diamonds to meet them, and they past away. '^' 

Then while Sir Lancelot leant, in half disgust 
At love, life, all things, on the whidow ledge, 
Close underneath his eyes, and right across 
Where these had fallen, slowly past the barge 
Whereon the Uly maid of Astolat ^^^ 

Lay smiling, like a star in blackest night. 

But the wild Queen, who saw not, burst away 

To weep and wail in secret ; and the barge, 

On to the palace-doorway sliding, paused. 1240 

There two stood armed, and kept the door ; to whom, 

All up the marble stairs, tier over tier. 

Were added mouths that gaped, and eyes that asked 

" What is it ? " but that oarsman's haggard face, 

As hard and still as is the face that men 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 373 

Shape to their fancy's eye from broken rocks ^^^ 

On some cliff-side, appalled them, and they said, 

" He is enchanted, cannot speak — and she, 

Look how she sleeps — the Fairy Queen, so fair ! 

Yea, but how pale ! What are they ? flesh and blood ? 

Or come to take the king to fairy land ? ^'^^ 

For some do hold our Arthur cannot die, 

But that he passes into fairy land." 

While thus they babbled of the king, the king 

Came girt with knights : then turned the tongueless man 

From the half-face to the full eye, then rose ^'^'^^ 

And pointed to the damsel, and the doors. 

So Arthur bade the meek Sir Percivale 

And pure Sir Galahad to uplift the maid ; 

And reverently they bore her into hall. 

Then came the fine Gawain and wondered at her, ^^^ 

And Lancelot later came and mused at her, 

And last the Queen herself and pitied her : 

But Arthur spied the letter in her hand, 

Stoopt, took, brake seal, and read it : this was all. 

" Most noble lord. Sir Lancelot of the Lake, ^^^ 

I, sometime called the maid of Astolat, 

Come, for you left me taking no farewell, 

Hither, to take my last farewell of you. 

I loved you, and my love had no return, 

And therefore my true love has been my death. ^^'"' 

And therefore to our Lady Guinevere, 

And to all other ladies, I make moan. 

Pray for my soul, and yield me burial. 

Pray for my soul thou too. Sir Lancelot, 

As thou art a knight peerless." 

Thus he read, 1275 

And ever in the reading. Lords and Dames 
Wept, looking often from his face who read 
To hers which lay so silent, and at times. 
So touched were they, half thinking that her lips, 
Who had devised the letter, moved again. ^'^^ 

Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them all : 



374 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

" My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear, 

Know that for this most gentle maiden's death 

Right heavy am I ; for good she was and true, 

But loved me with a love beyond aU love ^ 

In women, whomsoever I have known. 

Yet to be loved makes not to love again ; 

Not at my years, however it hold in youth. 

I swear by truth and knighthood that I gave 

No cause, not willingly, for such a love : '' 

To this I call my friends in testimony 

Her brethren, and her father, who himself 

Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use 

To break her passion some discourtesy 

Against my nature : what I could, I did, ' 

I left her and I bade her no farewell. 

Though, had I dreamt the damsel would have died, 

I might have put my wits to some rough use, 

And helped her from herself." 

Then said the Queen, 
(Sea was her wrath, yet working after storm,) ^ 

" You might at least have done her so much grace. 
Fair Lord, as would have helped her from her death." 
He raised his head, their eyes met and hers fell. 
He adding, 

" Queen, she would not be content 
Save that I wedded her, which could not be. ' 

Then might she follow me through the world, she asked. 
It could not be. I told her that her love 
Was but the flash of youth, would darken down 
To rise hereafter in a stiller flame 

Toward one more worthy of her — then would I, ' 

More specially were he she wedded poor. 
Estate them with large land and territory 
In mine own realm beyond the narrow seas. 
To keep them in all joyance : more than this 
I could not ; this she would not, and she died." 

He pausing, Arthur answered, " O my knight. 
It will be to your worship, as my knight. 
And mine, as head of all our Table Round, 
To see that she be buried worshipfuUy." 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 375 

So toward that shrine which then in all the realm -^^^^ 

Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went, 

The marshalled order of their Table Round, 

And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see 

The maiden buried, not as one unknown. 

Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies, _ ^^'^^ 

And mass, and rolling music, like a Queen. 

And when the knights had laid her comely head 

Low in the dust of half-forgotten kings, 

Then Arthur spake among them, " Let her tomb 

Be costly, and her image thereupon. ^^^° 

And let the shield of Lancelot at her feet 

Be carven, and her lily in her hand. 

And let the story of her dolorous voyage 

For all true hearts be blazoned on her tomb 

In letters gold and azure ! " which was wrought ^^^^ 

Thereafter ; but when now the lords and dames 

And people, from the high door streaming, brake 

Disorderly, as homeward each, the Queen, 

Who marked Sir Lancelot where he moved apart, 

Drew near, and sighed in passing, " Lancelot, ^^*° 

Forgive me ; mine was jealousy in love." 

He answered with his eyes upon the ground, 

" That is love's curse ; pass on, my Queen, forgiven." 

But Arthur who beheld his cloudy brows 

Approached him, and with full affection flung ^^^ 

One arm about his neck, and spake and said : 

" Lancelot, my Lancelot, thou in whom I have 

Most love and most affiance, for I know 

What thou hast been in battle by my side. 

And many a time have watched thee at the tilt ^^^ 

Strike down the lusty and long-practiced knight, 

And let the younger and unskilled go by 

To win his honor and to make his name, 

And loved thy courtesies and thee, a man 

Made to be loved ; — but now I would to God, ^^^ 

For the wild people say wild things of thee. 

Thou couldst have loved this maiden, shaped, it seems, 

By God for thee alone, and from her face. 

If one may judge the living by the dead, 



376 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Delicately pure and marvelously fair, ^'*' 

"Who might have brought thee, now a lonely man 

Wifeless and heirless, noble issue, sons 

Born to the glory of thy name and fame, 

My knight, the great Sir Lancelot of the Lake." 

Then answered Lancelot, " Fair she was, my king, •'^^'' 

Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be. 

To doubt her fairness were to want an eye, 

To doubt her pureness were to want a heart — 

Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love 

Could bind him, but free love will not be bound." ^^'^ 

" Free love, so bound, were freest," said the king. 

" Let love be free ; free love is for the best ; 

And, after heaven, on our dull side of death 

What should be best, if not so pure a love 

Clothed in so pure a loveliness ? yet thee ^^^ 

She failed to bind, though being, as I think, 

Unbound as yet, and gentle as I know." 

And Lancelot answered nothing, but he went 

And at the inrunning of a little brook 

Sat by the river in a cove, and watched ^^^ 

The high reed wave, and lifted up his eyes 

And saw the barge that brought her moving down, 

Far off, a blot upon the stream, and said 

Low in himself, " Ah simple heart and sweet, 

You loved me, damsel, surely with a love ^^^® 

Far tenderer than my Queen's. Pray for thy soul ? 

Ay that will I. Farewell too — now at last — 

Farewell, fair lily. ' Jealousy in love ? ' 

Not rather dead love's harsh heir, jealous pride ? 

Queen, if I grant the jealousy as of love, ^^^ 

May not your crescent fear for name and fame 

Speak, as it waxes, of a love that wanes ? 

Why did the king dwell on my name to me ? 

Mine own name shames me, seeming a reproach, 

Lancelot, whom the Lady of the lake ^*®* 

Stole from his mother — as the story runs — 

She chanted snatches of mysterious song 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 377 

Heard on the winding waters, eve and morn ; 

She kissed me, saying, ' Thou art fair, my child, 

As a king's son,' and often in her arms ^^°" 

She bare me, pacing on the dusky mere. 

Would she had drowned me in it, where'er it be ! 

For what am I ? what profits me my name 

Of greatest knight ? I fought for it, and have ; 

Pleasure to have it, none ; to lose it, pain ; ""^ 

Now grown a part of me : but what use in it ? 

To make men worse by making my sin known ? 

Or sin seem less, the sinner seeming great ? 

Alas for Arthur's greatest knight, a man 

Not after Arthur's heart ! I needs must break ^*^° 

These bonds that so defame me : not without 

She wills it : would I, if she willed ? nay. 

Who knows ? but if I would not, then may God, 

I pray him, send a sudden Angel down 

To seize me by the hair and bear me far, ^*^^ 

And fling me deep in that forgotten mere. 

Among the tumbled fragments of the hills." 

So groaned Sir Lancelot in remorseful pain, 
Not knowing he should die a holy man. 



NOTES ON ELAINE. 

2. A^tolat, Guildford, capital of the county of Surrey, 17 miles southwest of 
London. 
4. Xiaiicelot was one of the most famous of the Knights of the Round Table. 

22. Caerlyle, now Carlisle, capital of the county of Cumberland, in the extreme 
northwest of England. It was originally a Koman station called Luguvallum , which 
the Saxons abbreviated to Luel. The Britons prefixed caer, castle or city ; and hence 
the present name. 

23. Caerleon, Castle of the Legion, the ancient capital of Wales. Near the 
modern town is what is popvilarly called "Arthur's Round Table," which some sup- 
pose to be an ancient Roman amphitheatre. — Canielot is the name of a steep 
hill in the county of Somerset, where are the remains of a camp, called " King 
Arthur's Palace." 

82. Artliur , a son of Uther Pendragon, king of the Britons in 516. Uther having 
died, Arthur, at the age of 15 or 18, ascended the throne, and in his successful wars 
with the Saxons, Picts, and Scots, acquired great renown, and thus became the hero 
of many a legend. At the battle of Mount Badon, the modern Bath (see ver. 280), he 
is said to have slain 470 Saxons with his good sword Caliburn and his lance Ron. 
At York he is said to have introduced the Christian wor.ship. Here also he married 
his queen Guinevere. After pushing his conquests over Ireland and into Norway 



378 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

and Gaul, he returned and was crowned at Caerleon. Haying been mortally 
wounded In a battle in Cornwall with his nephew Modred, he withdi'ew to the island 
or peninsula of Avalon , in Somersetshire, on which is situated the modem town of 
Glastonbury, and died there in 542. 

54. Scaur, cliff or precipice ; the same word etymologically as scar. Cf. A.-S. 
seer an, to shear, to cut off. 

95. Lets, hinders; A.-S. lettan, to hinder. Cf. Isa. xliii. 13 : "I will work and 
who shall let it ? " Rom. i. 13 : " But was let hitherto." 

161. Barren-beaten, a participle modified by an adjective used adverbially. 

203. Liustiliood, here a dissyllable. Cf. likelihood, 366. 

280. Badon hill. See n. on Arthur, ver. 32. 

839. Ratlie, early, soon ; A.-S. rathe and. hrathe. Hence our compar. ratAer. 
' 437. Samite, a kind of silk fabric ; Old Fr. samit, from Greek ef , six, and ju-iVos, 
thread. 

1004. Malte, compose ; A.-S. macian. The Old English for poet was maker. 

1415. Mere ; A.-S. mere, a pool, a lake. 

Tennyson uses the license which grammarians allow to poets, with great free- 
dom. They will hardly pass such expressions as The one-day-seen, ver. 748, and 
The nine-years-fought-for, ver. 1170, whatever they may think of such expressions 
as barren-beaten, ver. 161. 

He is equally free with his rhythm. There are passages scattered through the 
poem which if written as prose would not in reading be recognized as a poetic 
rhythm. Thus, vv. 281^83 : " there, great Lord, doubtless, Lavaine said, rapt by 
all the sweet and sudden passion of youth toward greatness in its elder." And, 
vv. 580-586: " Lord, no sooner had you parted from us than Lancelot told me of a 
common talk that men went down before his spear at a touch, but knowing he was 
Lancelot ; his great name conquered ; and therefore would he hide his name from all 
men, even the king, and to this end had made the pretext of a hindering wound." 
This is poor prose so far as the rhythm is concerned, and poorer poetry. 



13. HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW, 1807 . 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, son of Hon. Stephen Longfellow, was 
born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807. At the age of 14 he entered Bowdoin 
College. During his college course he wrote a number of smaller poems, which 
were afterwards published. He distinguished himself as a scholar, and was grad- 
uated in 1825. He was appointed Professor of Modern Languages and Literature in 
that institution, with the privilege of residing for several years abroad, and in 1826 
Bailed for Europe. After spending a year in France and Spain, and two years in 
Italy and Germany, he returned in 1830 and entered on the duties of his professor- 
ship. In 1835 he was appointed to a life professorship at Harvard College, and 
having spent 17 years in its duties there, he resigned in 1854, and has since re.'iided 
in Cambridge. He published his " Outre Mer " in 1835 ; " Hyperion " and " Voices 
of the Night " in 1839 ; " Ballads and other Poems " in 1841 ; " Poems on Slavery " 
in 1842 ; " The Spanish Student " in 1843 ; " Poets and Poetry of Europe " in 1845 ; 
"The Belfry of Bruges and other Poems" in 1846; "Evangeline" in 1847; 
"Kavanagh," a novel, in 1849; "Seaside and Fireside " in 1850; ''The Golden 
Legend "in 1851; "The Song of Hiawatha" in 1855; "The Courtship of Miles 
Standish " in 1858 ; a translation of Dante in 1867. 

The selections for this work are inserted under the expressed permission of the 
publishers of Professor Longfellow's works, Messrs. Ticknor and Fields of Boston. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 379 

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Should you ask me, whence these stories ? 

Whence these legends and traditions, 

With the odors of the forest, 

With the dew and damp of meadows, 

With the curling smoke of wigwams. 

With the rushing of great rivers. 

With their frequent repetitions, 

And their wild reverberations, 

As of thunder in the mountains ? 

I should answer, I should tell you, 
" From the forests and the prairies. 
From the great lakes of the Northland, 
From the land of the Ojibways, 
From the land of the Dacotahs, 
From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands. 
Where the heron, the Shiili-shuh-gah, 
Feeds among the reeds and rushes. 
I repeat them as I heard them 
From the Ups of Nawadaha, 
The musician, the sweet singer." 

Should you ask where Nawadaha 
Found these songs, so wild and wayward, 
Found these legends and traditions, 
I should answer, I should tell you, 
"In the bird's-nests of the forest. 
In the lodges of the beaver. 
In the hoof-prints of the bison, 
In the eyry of the eagle ! 

" All the wild-fowl sang them to him, 
In the moorlands and the fen-lands, 
In the melancholy marshes ; 
Chetowailv, the plover, sang them, 
Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, Wawa, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa ! " 

If still further you should ask me. 
Saying, " Who was Nawadaha ? 
Tell us of this Nawadaha," 
I should answer your inquiries 



380 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Straightway in sucli words as follow. 

" In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley, 
By the pleasant water-courses, 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 
Round about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the cornfields, 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, 
Green in Summer, white in Winter, 
Ever sighing, ever singing. 

" And the pleasant water-courses, 
You could trace them through the valley. 
By the rushing in the Spring-time, 
By the alders in the Summer, 
By the white fog in the Autumn, 
By the black line in the Winter ; 
And beside them dwelt the singer, 
In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley. 

" There he sang of Hiawatha, 
Sang the Song of Hiawatha, 
Sang his wondrous birth and being. 
How he prayed and how he fasted, 
How he lived, and toiled, and suffered, 
That the tribes of men might prosper. 
That he might advance his peojile ! " 

Ye who love the haunts of Nature, 
Love the sunshine of the meadow, 
Love the shadow of the forest, 
Love the wind among the branches, 
And the rain- shower and the snow-storm, 
And the rushing of great rivers, 
Thi'ough their palisades of pine-trees. 
And the thunder in the mountains, 
Wliose innumerable echoes 
Flap like eagles in their eyries ; — 
Listen to these wild traditions. 
To this Song of Hiawatha I 

Ye who love a nation's legends. 
Love the ballads of a people. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 381 

That like voices from afar off 
Call to us to pause and listen, 
Speak in tones so plain and childlike, 
Scarcely can the ear distinguish 
Wliether they are sung or spoken ; — 
Listen to this Indian Legend, 
To the Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, 
Who have faith in God and Nature, 
Wlio believe, that in all ages 
Every human heart is human, 
That in even savage bosoms 
There are longings, yearnings, strivings 
For the good they comprehend not, 
That the feeble hands and helpless, 
Groping blindly in the darkness 
Touch God's right hand in that darkness 
And are lifted up and strengthened ; — 
Listen to this simple story, 
To the Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles 
Through the green lanes of the country, 
Where the tangled barberry-bushes 
Hang their tufts of crimson berries 
Over stone walls gray with mosses, 
Pause by some neglected graveyard. 
For a while, to muse and ponder 
On a half-effaced inscription, 
Written with little skill of song-craft, 
Homely phrases, but each letter 
FuU of hope and yet of heart-break, 
Full of all the tender pathos 
Of the Here and the Hereafter ; — 
Stay and read this rude inscription. 
Read the Song of Hiawatha ! 

III. 

Hiawatha's childhood. 

Downward through the evening twilight, 
In the days that are forgotten, 



882 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

In the unremembered ages, 
From the full moon fell Nokomis, 
Fell the beautiM Nokomis, 
She a wife, but not a mother. 

She was sporting with her women, 
Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, 
When her rival, the rejected. 
Full of jealousy and hatred, 
Cut the leafy swing asunder, 
Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines, 
And Nokomis fell affrighted 
Downward thi'ough the evening twilight. 
On the Muskoday, the meadow. 
On the prairie full of blossoms. 
" See ! a star falls ! " said the people ; 
" From the sky a star is falling ! " 

There among the ferns and mosses. 
There among the prairie lilies. 
On the Muskoday, the meadow. 
In the moonlight and the starlight. 
Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. 
And she called her name Wenonah, 
As the first-born of her daughters. 
And the daughter of Nokomis 
Grew up like the prairie lilies, 
Grew a tall and slender maiden, 
With the beauty of the moonlight. 
With the beauty of the starlight. 

And Nokomis warned her often. 
Saying oft, and oft repeating, 
" O, beware of Mudjekeewis, 
Of the West- Wind, Mudjekeewis ; 
Listen not to what he tells you, 
Lie not down upon the meadow. 
Stoop not down among the liUes, 
Lest the West- Wind come and harm you ! 

But she heeded not the warning, 
Heeded not those words of wisdom. 
And the West- Wind came at evening, 
Wallcing lightly o'er the prairie, 
Whispering to the leaves and blossoms. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 383 

Bending low the flowers and grasses, 

Found the beautiful Wenonah, 

Lying there among the lilies, 

Wooed her with his words of sweetness, 

Wooed her with his soft caresses, 

Till she bore a son in sorrow. 

Bore a son of love and sorrow. 

Thus was born my Hiawatha, 
Thus was born the child of wonder ; 
But the daughter of Nokomis, 
Hiawatha's gentle mother, 
In her anguish died deserted 
By the West- Wind, false and faithless, 
By the heartless Mudjekeewis. 

For her daughter, long and loudly 
Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis ; 
" O that I were dead ! " she murmured, 
" O that I were dead as thou art ! 
No more work, and no more weeping, 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest. 
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
Rose the firs with cones upon them ; 
Bright before it beat the water. 
Beat the clear and sunny water. 
Beat the shining Big-Sea- Water. 

There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
Rocked him in his linden cradle, 
Bedded soft in moss and rushes, 
Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; 
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
" Hush ! the Naked Bear will hear thee ! '" 
Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
" Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! 
Who is this, that lights the wigwam ? 
With his great eyes lights the wigwam ? 



384 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Ewa-yea I my little owlet ! " 

Many things Nokomis taught him 
Of the stars that shine in heaven ; 
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses ; 
Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, 
Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, 
Flaring far away to northward, 
In the frosty nights of Winter ; 
Showed the broad, white road in heaven, 
Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, 
Running straight across the heavens, 
Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. 

At the door on summer evenings 
Sat the Uttle Hiawatha ; 
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, 
Heard the lapping of the water, 
Sounds of music, words of wonder ; 
" Minne-wawa ! " said the pine-trees, 
" Mudway-auslika ! " said the water. 

Saw the fii'e-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting through the dusk of evening. 
With the twinkle of its candle 
Lighting up the brakes and bushes, 
And he sang the song of children, 
Sang the song Nokomis taught him ; 
" Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, 
Little, flitting, white-fire insect. 
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, 
Light me with your little candle. 
Ere upon my bed I lay me, 
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids I " 

Saw the moon rise from the water. 
Rippling, rounding fi'om the water. 
Saw the flecks and shadows on it, 
Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis ? " 
And the good Nokomis answered, 
" Once a warrior, very angry, 
Seized his grandmother, and threw her 
Up into the sky at midnight ; 
Right against the moon he thi-ew her ; 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 385 

'Tis lier body that you see there." 
SaAv the rainbow in the heaven, 
In the eastern sky, the rainbow, 
Whispered, " What is that, Nokomis ? " 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
" 'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there ; 
All the wild-flowers of the forest, 
All the lilies of the prairie. 
When on earth they fade and perish, 
Blossom in that heaven above us." 

When he heard the owls at midnight, 
Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
"AVhat is that ? " he cried in terror ; 
" What is that ? " he said, " Nokomis ? " 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
" That is but the owl and owlet, 
Talking in their native language, 
Talking, scolding at each other." 

Then the Uttle Hiawatha 
Learned of every bird its language. 
Learned their names and all their secrets. 
How they built their nests in Summer, 
Where they hid themselves in Winter, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them. 
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." 

Of all beasts he learned the language, 
Learned their names and all their secrets, 
How the beavers built their lodges. 
Where the squu-rels hid their acorns, 
How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 
Why the rabbit was so timid, 
Talked with them whene'er he met them, 
Called them, " Hiawatha's Brothers." 

Then lagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvelous story-teller. 
He the traveler and the talker. 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Made a bow for Hiawatha ; 
From a branch of ash he made it. 
From an oak-bough made the arrows. 
Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, 
25 



386 EEPKESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And the cord he made of deer-skin. 

Then he said to Hiawatha : 
" Go, my son, into the forest. 
Where the red deer herd together, 
Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
Kill for us a deer with antlers." 

Forth into the forest straightway- 
All alone walked Hiawatha 
Proudly, with his bow and arrows ; 
And the birds sang round him, o'er him, 
" Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! " 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
Sang the bluebu'd, Owaissa, 
" Do not shoot us, Hiawatha ! " 
Up the oak-tree, close beside him, 
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
In and out among the branches, 
Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree. 
Laughed, and said between his laughing, 
" Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 

And the rabbit from his pathway 
Leaped aside, and at a distance 
Sat erect upon his haunches. 
Half in fear and half in frolic, 
Saying to the little hunter, 
" Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 

But he heeded not, nor heard them, 
For his thoughts were with the red deer ; 
On their tracks his eyes were fastened, 
Leading downward to the river. 
To the ford across the river, 
And as one in slumber walked he. 

Hidden in the alder-bushes. 
There he waited till the deer came, 
Till he saw two antlers lifted, 
Saw two eyes look from the thicket. 
Saw two nostrils jaoint to windward, 
And a deer came down the jjathway, 
Flecked with leafy light and shadow. 
And his heart within him fluttered, 
Trembled like the leaves above liim, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 387 

Like the birch-leaf jjalpitated, 

As the deer came down the pathway. 

Then, upon one knee uprising, 
Hiawatha aimed an arrow : 
Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, 
But the wary roebuck started, 
Stamped with all his hoofs together. 
Listened with one foot upUfted, 
Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; 
Ah ! the singing, fatal arrow, 
Like a wasp it buzzed "and stung him ! 

Dead he lay there in the forest, 
By the ford across the river ; 
Beat his timid heart no longer, 
But the heart of Hiawatha 
Throbbed and shouted and exulted, 
As he bore the red deer homeward, 
" And lagoo and Nokomis 
Hailed his coming with applauses. 

From the red deer's hide Nokomis 
Made a cloak for Hiawatha, 
From the red deer's flesh Nokomis 
Made a banquet in his honor. 
All the village came and feasted, 
All the guests praised Hiawatha. 
Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha ! 
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee ! 



HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 

Out of cliildhood into manhood 
Now had grown my Hiawatha, 
Skilled in all the craft of hunters, 
Learned in aU the lore of old men, 
In all youthful sports and pastimes, 
In all manly arts and labors. 

Swift of foot was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot an arrow from him. 
And run forward with such fleetness, 



388 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

That the arrow fell behind him ! 

Strong of arm was Hiawatha ; 

He could shoot ten arrows upward, 

Shoot them -with such strength and swiftness, 

That the tenth had left the bow-string 

Ere the first to earth had fallen ! 

He had mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Magic mittens made of deer-skin ; 
When upon his hands he wore them, 
He could smite the rocks asunder, 
He could grind them into powder. 
He had moccasins enchanted, 
Magic moccasins of deer-skin ; 
When he bound them round his ankles 
When upon his feet he tied them, 
At each stride a mile he measured ! 

Much he questioned old Nokomis 
Of his father Mudjekeewis ; 
Learned from her the fatal secret 
Of the beauty of his mother. 
Of the falsehood of his father ; 
And his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

Then he said to old Nokomis, 
" I will go to Mudjekeewis, 
See how fares it with my father, 
At the doorways of the West- Wind, 
At the portals of the Sunset ! " 

From his lodge went Hiawatha, 
Dressed for travel, armed for hunting ; 
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggins. 
Richly wrought with quills and wampum ; 
On his head his eagle-feathers, 
Round his waist his belt of wampum, 
, In his hand his bow of ash-wood. 
Strung with sinews of the reindeer ; 
In his quiver oaken arrows. 
Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers ; 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
With his moccasins enchanted. 

Warning said the old Nokomis, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 389 

" Go not forth, O Hiawatha I 

To the kingdom of the West-Wind, 

To the realms of MudjekeeAvis, 

Lest he harm you with his magic. 

Lest he kill you with his cunning." 
But the fearless Hiawatha 

Heeded not her woman's warning ; 

Forth he strode into the forest, 

At each stride a mile he measured ; 

Lurid seemed the sky above him, 

Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, 

Hot and close the air around liim, 

Filled with smoke and fiery vapors, 

As of burning woods and prairies, 

For his heart was hot within him, 

Like a living coal his heart was. 

So he journeyed westward, westward, 

Left the fleetest deer behind him, 

Left the antelope and bison ; 

Crossed the rushing Esconada, 

Crossed the mighty Mississippi, 

Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, 

Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, 

Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, 

Came unto the Rocky Mountains, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind, 
Where upon the gusty summits 

Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, 
Ruler of the winds of heaven. 

Filled with awe was Hiawatha 
At the aspect of his father. 
On the air about him wildly 
Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, 
Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses, 
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet. 
Like the star with fiery tresses. 

Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis 
When he looked on Hiawatha, 
Saw his youth rise up before him 
In the face of Hiawatha, 
Saw the beauty of Wenonah 



890 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

From the grave rise up before him. 

" Welcome ! " said he, " Hiawatha, 
To the kingdom of the West- Wind ! 
Long have I been waiting for you ! 
Youth is lovely, age is lonely, 
Youth is fiery, age is frosty ; 
You bring back the days departed. 
You bring back my youth of passion, 
And the beautiful Wenonah ! " 

Many days they talked together, 
Questioned, listened, waited, answered; 
Much the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Boasted of his ancient prowess, 
Of his perilous adventures, 
His indomitable courage, 
His invulnerable body. 

Patiently sat Hiawatha, 
Listening to his father's boasting ; 
With a smile he sat and listened, 
Uttered neither threat nor menace. 
Neither word nor look betrayed him, 
But his heart was hot within him, 
Like a hving coal his heart was. 

Then he said, " O Mudjekeewis, 
Is there nothing that can harm you ? 
Nothing that you are afraid of ? " 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Grand and gracious in his boasting. 
Answered, saying, " There is nothing, 
Nothing but the black rock yonder. 
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek ! " 

And he looked at Hiawatha, 
With a wise look and benignant, 
With a countenance paternal. 
Looked with pride upon the beauty 
Of his tall and graceful figure, 
Saying, " O my Hiawatha ! 
Is there anything can harm you ? 
Anything you are afi'aid of ? " 

But the Avary Hiawatha 
Paused awliile, as if uncertain, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 391 

Held his peace, as if resolying, 

And then answered, " There is nothing, 

Nothing but the bidrush yonder. 

Nothing but the great Apukwa ! ! " 
And as Mudjekeewis, rising, 

Stretched his hand to jjluck the buh-ush, 

Hiawatha cried in terroi', 

Cried in well-dissembled terror, 

" Kago ! kago ! do not touch it ! " 

" Ah, kaween ! " said Mudjekeewis, 

" No indeed, I will not touch it ! " 
Then they talked of other matters ; 

First of Pliawatha's brothers, 

First of Wabun, of the East- Wind, 

Of the South- Wind, Shawondasee, 

Of the North, Kabibonokka ; 
Then of Hiawatha's mother, 

Of the beautiful Wenonah, 

Of her birth upon the meadow, 

Of her death, as old Nokomis 
Had remembered and related. 

And he cried, " O Mudjekeewis, 
It was you Avho killed Wenonah, 
Took her young life and her beauty, 
Broke the Lily of the Prau-ie, 
Trampled it beneath your footsteps ; 
You confess it ! you confess it ! " 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Tossed upon the wind his tresses. 
Bowed his hoaiy head in anguish, 
With a silent nod assented. 

Then up started Hiawatha, 
And with threatening look and gesture 
Laid his hand upon the black rock, 
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it. 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
B.ent the jutting crag asunder, 
Smote and crushed it into fi-agments, 
Hurled them madly at his father. 
The remorseful Mudjekeewis, 
For liis heart was hot within him, 



392 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Like a living coal his heart was. 
But the ruler of the AVest-Wind 

Blew the fi-agments backward from him 
With the breathing of his nostrils. 
With the tempest of his anger, 
Blew them back at his assailant ; 
Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, 
Dragged it with its roots and fibres 
From the margin of the meadow, 
From its ooze, the giant bulrush. 
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha ! 

Then began the deadly conflict, 
Hand to hand among the mountains ; 
From his eyry screamed the eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle 
Sat upon the crags around them. 
Wheeling flapped his wings above them. 

Like a tall tree in the tempest 
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush ; 
And In masses huge and heavy 
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek ; 
Till the earth shook with the tumult 
And confusion of the battle, 
And the air v/as full of shoutings, 
And the thunder of the movmtains, 
Starting, answered, " Baim-wawa ! " 

Back retreated Mudjekeewis, 
Rushing westward o'er the mountains, 
Stumbling westward down the mountains, 
Three whole days retreated fighting, 
Still pursued by Hiawatha 
To the doorways of the West- Wind, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the earth's remotest border, 
Where into the empty spaces 
Sinks the sun, as a flamingo 
Drops into her nest at nightfall. 
In the melancholy marshes. 

" Hold ! " at length cried Mudjekeewi^ 
" Hold, my son, my Hiawatha ! 
'Tis impossible to kill me, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 393 

For you cannot kill the immortal. 
I have put you to this trial, 
But to know and prove your courage ; 
Now receive the prize of valor ! 

" Go back to your home and people, 
Live among them, toil among them, 
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, 
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, 
Slay all monsters and magicians. 
All the Wendigoes, the giants, 
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, 
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa, 
Slew the Great Bear of the mountains. 

" And at last when death draws near you, 
When the awful eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon you in the darkness, 
I will share my kingdom with you, 
Ruler shall you be thenceforward 
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, 
Of the home-wind, the KecAvaydin." 

Thus was fought that famous battle 
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, 
In the days long since departed. 
In the kingdom of the West- Wind. 
Still the hunter sees its traces 
Scattered far o'er hill and valley ; 
Sees the giant bulrush growing 
By the ponds and water-courses, 
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek 
Lying still in every valley. 

Homeward now went Hiawatha ; 
Pleasant was the landscape round him, 
Pleasant was the air above him, 
For the bitterness of anger 
Had departed wholly from him. 
From his brain the thought of vengeance, 
From his heart the burning fever. 

Only once his pace he slackened, 
Only once he paused or halted. 
Paused to purchase heads of arrows 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 



394 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Where the falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, 
Laugh and leap into the valley. 

There the ancient Arrow-maker 
Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, 
Hard and polished, keen and costly. 

With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, 
Wayward as the Minnehaha, 
With her moods of shade and sunshine, 
Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate. 
Feet as rapid as the river. 
Tresses flowing like the water, 
And as musical a laughter ; 
And he named her from the river. 
From the waterfall he named her, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water. 

Was it then for heads of arrows. 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper. 
That my Hiawatha halted 
In the land of the Dacotahs ? 

Was it not to see the maiden, 
See the face of Laughing Water, 
Peeping from behind the curtain. 
Hear the rustling of her garments 
From behind the waving curtain, 
As one sees the Minnehaha 
Gleaming, glancing thro' the branches, 
As one hears the Laughing Water 
From behind its screen of branches ? 

Who shall say what thoughts and visions 
Fill the fiery brains of young men ? 
Who shall say what dreams of beauty 
Filled the heart of Hiawatha ? 
All he told to old Nokomis, 
When he reached the lodge at sunset, 
Was the meeting with his father, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 395 

Was Ills fight with Mudjekeewis ; 
Not a woi'd he said of arrows, 
Not a word of Laughing Water ! 

vr. 

HIAWATHA'S FKIENDS. 

Two good friends had Hiawatha, 

Singled out from all the others, 

Bound to him in closest union. 

And to whom he gave the right hand 

Of his heart, in joy and sorrow ; 

Chibiabos, the musician. 

And the very strong man, Kwasind. 

Straight between them ran the pathway. 
Never grew the grass upon it ; 
Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, 
Story-tellers, mischief-makers. 
Found no eager ear to listen. 
Could not breed ill-will between them, 
For they kept each other's counsel, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 

Most beloved by Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of aU musicians. 
He the sweetest of all singers. 
Beautiful and childlike was he, 
Brave as man is, soft as woman, 
Pliant as a wand of willow, 
Stately as a deer with antlers. 

When he sang, the village listened; 
All the warriors gathered round him. 
All the women came to hear him ; 
Now he stirred their souls to passion, 
Now he melted them to pity. 

From the hoUow reeds he fashioned 
Flutes so musical and mellow. 
That the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Ceased to murmur in the woodland. 



396 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

That the wood-birds ceased from singing, 
And the squirrel, Adjidanmo, 
Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Sat upright to look and listen.. 

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Pausing, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach my waves to flow in music, 
Softly as your words in singing ! " 

Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
Envious, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as wild and wayward, 
Teach me songs as full of frenzy 1 " 

Yes, the robin, the Opechee, 
Joyous, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as sweet and tender, 
Teach me songs as full of gladness I " 

And the Avhippoorwill, Wawonaissa, 
Sobbing, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as melancholy. 
Teach me songs as full of sadness ! " 

All the many sounds of nature 
Borrowed sweetness from his singing ; 
All the hearts of men were softened 
By the pathos of his music ; 
For he sang of peace and freedom, 
Sang of beauty, love, and longing ; 
Sang of death, and life undying 
In the Islands of the Blessed, 
In the kingdom of Ponemah, 
In the land of the Hereafter. 

Very dear to Hiawatha 
"Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers ; 
For his gentleness he loved him, 
And the magic of his singing. 

Dear, too, unto Hiawatha 
"Was the very strong man, Kwasind, 
He the strongest of all mortals, 
He the mightiest among many ; 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 397 

For his very strength he loved him, 
For his strength allied to goodness. 

Idle in his youth was Kwasind, 
Very listless, dull, and dreamy, 
Never played with other children, 
Never fished and never hunted, 
Nor like other children was he ; 
But they saw that much he fasted, 
Much his Manito entreated. 
Much besought his Guardian Spirit. 

" Lazy Kwasind ! " said his mother, 
" In my work you never help me I 
In the Summer you are roaming 
Idly in the fields and forests ; 
In the Winter you are cowering 
O'er the fire-brands in the wigwam ! 
In the coldest days of Winter 
I must break the ice for fishing ; 
With my nets you never help me ! 
At the door my nets are hanging, 
Dripping, freezing with the water ; 
Go and wring them, Yenadizze ! 
Go and dry them in the sunshine ! " 

Slowly, fi-om the ashes, Kwasind 
Rose, but made no angry answer ; 
From the lodge went forth in silence, 
Took the nets, that hung together. 
Dripping, freezing at the doorway, 
Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, 
Like a wisp of straw he broke them. 
Could not wring them without breaking, 
Such the strength was in his fingers. 

" Lazy Kwasind ! " said his father, 
" In the hunt you never help me ; 
Every bow you touch is broken, 
Snapped asunder every arrow ; 
Yet come with me to the forest. 
You shall bring the hunting homeward." 

Down a narrow pass they wandered, 
Wliere a brooklet led them onward. 
Where the trail of deer and bison 



398 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Marked the soft mud on the margin, 
Till they found all further passage 
Shut against them, barred securely 
By the trunks of trees uprooted, 
Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, 
And forbidding further passage. 

" We must go back," said the old man, 
" O'er these logs we cannot clamber ; 
Not a woodchuck could get through them, 
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them ! " 
And straightway his pipe he lighted. 
And sat down to smoke and ponder. 
But before his pipe was finished, 
Lo ! the path was cleared before him ; 
All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, 
To the right hand, to the left hand, 
Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, 
Hurled the cedars light as lances. 

" Lazy Kwasind ! " said the young men, 
As they sported in the meadow ; 
" Why stand idly looking at us. 
Leaning on the rock behind you ? 
Come and wrestle with the others, 
Let us pitch the quoit together ! " 

Lazy Kwasind made no answer, 
To their challenge made no answer, 
Only rose, and, slowly turning. 
Seized the huge rock in his fingers, 
Tore it from its deep foundation, 
Poised it in the au' a moment. 
Pitched it sheer into the river. 
Sheer into the swift Pauwating, 
Where it still is seen in Summer. 

Once as down that foaming river, 
Down the rapids of Pauwating, 
Kwasind sailed with his companions, 
In the stream he saw a beaver, 
Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers, 
Struggling with the rushing currents, 
Kising, sinking in the water. 

Without speaking, without pausing, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 399 

Kwasind leaped into the river, 
Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, 
Through the whirlpools chased the beaver, 
Followed him among the islands. 
Stayed so long beneath the water, 
That his terrified companions 
Cried, " Alas 1 good-by to Kwasind ! 
We shall nevermore see Kwasind ! " 
But he reappeared triumphant, 
And upon his shining shoulders 
Brought the beaver, dead and dripping, 
Brought the King of all the Beavers. 
And these two, as I have told you, 
Were the friends of Hiawatha, 
Chibiabos, the musician. 
And the very strong man, Kwasind. 
Long they lived in peace together, 
Spake with naked hearts together. 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 



HIAWATHA S WOOING. 

" As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman, 
Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
Though she draws him, yet she follows, 
Useless each without the other ! " 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered. 
Much perplexed by various feelings. 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing. 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

" Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
" Go not eastward, go not westward, 
For a stranger, whom we know not ! 



400 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! " 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight. 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight ! " 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
" Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman, 
Hands unskillfiil, feet unwilling ; 
Bring a wife with nimble fingers, 
Heart and hand that move together, 
Feet that run on willing errands ! " 

Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
" In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands. 
Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
Be the sunlight of my people ! " 

Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
" Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs I 
Very fierce are the Dacotahs, 
Often is there war between us. 
There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
Wounds that ache and still may open ! 

Laughing answered Hiawatha : 
" For that reason, if no other, 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united. 
That old feuds might be forgotten, 
And old wounds be healed forever ! " 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dacotahs, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 401 

To the land of handsome women ; 
Striding over moor and meadow, 
Through interminable forests, 
Through uninterrupted silence. 

With his moccasins of magic. 
At each stride a mile he measured, 
Yet the way seemed long before him, 
And his heart outrun his footsteps ; 
And he journeyed without resting, 
Till he heard the cataract's laughter. 
Heard the falls of Minnehaha, 
Calling to him through the silence. 
" Pleasant is the sound ! " he murmured, 
" Pleasant is the voice that calls me I " 

On the outskirts of the forest, 
'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
Herds of fallow deer Avere feeding, 
But they saw not Hiawatha ; 
To his bow he whispered, " Fail not ! " 
To his arrow whispered, " Swerve not ! '* 
Sent it singing on its errand. 
To the red heart of the roebuck ; 
Threw the deer across his shoulder. 
And sped forward without pausing. 

At the doorway of his wigwam 
Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotalis, 
Making arrow-heads of jasper, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 
At his side, in all her beauty, 
Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 
Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, 
Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; 
Of the past the old man's thoughts were, 
And the maiden's of the future. 

He was thinking, as he sat there, 
Of the days when with such arrows 
He had struck the deer and bison. 
On the Muskoday, the meadow ; 
Shot the wild-goose, flying southward, 
On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; 
2tt 



402 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Thinking of the great war-parties, 
How they came to buy his arrows, 
Could not fight without his arrows. 
Ah, no more such noble warriors 
Could be found on earth as they were ! 
Now the men were all like women. 
Only used their tongues for weapons ! 

She was thinking of a hunter, 
From another tribe and country, 
Young and tall and very handsome. 
Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 
Came to buy her father's arrows, 
Sat and rested in the wigwam, 
Lingered loiig about the doorway, 
Looking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him, 
Praise his courage and his wisdom ; 
Would he come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha ? 
On the mat her hands lay idle. 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 
Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 
Heard a rustling in the branches, 
And with glowing cheek and forehead. 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 
Hiawatha stood before them. 

Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
Looked up gravely from liis labor, 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway. 
Saying, as he rose to meet him, 
" Hiawatha, you are welcome ! " 

At the feet of Laughing Water, 
Hiawatha laid his burden, 
Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; 
And the maiden looked up at him. 
Looked up from her mat of rushes. 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
" You are welcome, Hiawatha ! " 

Very spacious was the wigwam, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 403 

Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened, 
With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on its curtains, 
And so tall the doorway, hardly 
Hiawatha stooped to enter. 
Hardly touched his eagle-feathers 
As he entered at the doorway. 

Then uprose the Laughing Water, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
Laid aside her mat unfinished. 
Brought forth food and sat before them, 
Water brought them from the brooklet, 
Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
Listened while the guest was speaking, 
Listened while her father answered. 
But not once her lips she opened, 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he talked of old Nokomis, 
Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
As he told of his companions, 
Chibiabos, the musician. 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
And of happiness and plenty 
In the land of the Ojibways, 
In the pleasant land and peaceful. 

" After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
There is peace between the Ojibways 
And the tribe of the Dacotahs." 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly, 
" That this peace may last forever. 
And our hands be clasped more closely, 
And our hearts be more united. 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women ! " 

And the. ancient Ai-row-maker 



404 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Paused a moment ere he answered, 
Smoked a little while in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
And made answer very gravely : 
" Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! " 

And the lovely Laughing Water 
Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, 
Neither willing nor reluctant, 
As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him, 
While she said, and blushed to say it, 
" I will follow you, my husband ! " 

This was Hiawatha's wooing ! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient ArroAV-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! 

From the wigwam he departed. 
Leading with him Laughing Water, 
Hand in hand they went together. 
Through the woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam. 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from the distance, 
Crying to them from afar off, 
" Fare thee well, O Minnehaha ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor. 
Sat down by his sunny doorway. 
Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
" Thus it is our daughters leave us. 
Those Ave love, and those Avho love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help us, 
When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, . 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fliirest maiden. 
And she follows Avhere he leads her, 



HENRY WADSWOETH LONGFELLOW. 405 

Leaving all things for the stranger ! " 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
Through interminable forests, 
Over meadow, over mountain, 
Over river, hill, and hollow. 
Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journeyed very slowly, 
Though his pace he checked and slackened 
To the steps of Laughing Water. 
Over wide and rushing rivers 
In his arms he bore the maiden ; 
Light he thought her as a feather, 
As the plume upon his head-gear ; 
Cleared the tangled pathway for her, 
Bent aside the swaying branches, 
Made at night a lodge of branches, 
And a bed with boughs of hemlock. 
And a fire before the doorway 
With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 

All the travelling winds went with them, 
O'er the meadow, through the forest ; 
All the stars of night looked at them. 
Watched with sleepless eyes their slumber ; 
From his ambush in the oak-tree 
Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 

Scampered from the path before them, 
Peering, peeping from his burrow, 

Sat erect upon his haunches, 

Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 
Pleasant was the journey homeward ! 

All the birds sang loud and sweetly 

Songs of happiness and heart's-ease. 

Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 

" Happy are you, Hiawatha, 

Having such a wife to love you ! " 

Sang the robin, the Opechee, 

" Happy are you. Laughing Water, 

Having such a noble husband ! " 
From the sky the sun benignant 



406 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Looked upon them tliro' the branches, 
Saying to them, " O my children, 
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow. 
Life is checkered shade and sunshine, 
Rule by love, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the sky the moon looked at them, 
Filled the lodge with mystic splendors, 
Whispered to them, " O my children. 
Day is restless, night is quiet, 
Man imperious, woman feeble ; 
Half is mine, although I foUow ; 
Kule by patience. Laughing Water ! " 

Thus it was they journeyed homeward ; 
Thus it was that Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis 
Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight. 
Brought the sunshine of his people, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
In the land of handsome women. 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAK. 

Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of water ? 
Or the Red Swan floating, flying. 
Wounded by the magic arrow, 
Staining all the waves with crimson, 
With the crimson of its life-blood. 
Filling all the air with splendor, 
With the splendor of its plumage ? 

Yes ; it is the sun descending. 
Sinking down into the water ; 
All the sky is stained with purple. 
All the water flushed with crimson 1 
No ; it is the Red Swan floating, 
Diving down beneath the water ; 
To the sky its wings are lifted, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 407 

With its blood the waves are reddened ! 

Over it the Star of Evening 
Melts and trembles through the purple, 
Hangs suspended in the twilight. 
No ; it is a bead of wampum 
On the robes of the Great Spirit, 
As he passes through the twilight, 
Walks in silence through the heavens. 

This with joy beheld lagoo 
And he said in haste : " Behold it ! 
See the sacred Star of Evening ! 
You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
Hear the story of Osseo, 
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo ! 

" Once, in days no more remembered. 
Ages nearer the beginning. 
When the heavens were closer to us, 
And the Gods were more familiar. 
In the JSTortli-land lived a hunter, 
With ten young and comely daughters, 
Tall and lithe as wands of willoAv ; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest. 
She the willful and the wayward, 
She the silent, dreamy maiden, 
Was the fau'est of the sisters. 

" All these women married warriors, 
Married brave and haughty husbands ; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest. 
Laughed and flouted all her lovers. 
All her young and handsome suitors, 
And then married old Osseo, 
Old Osseo, poor and ugly. 
Broken with age and weak with coughing, 
Always coughing like a squirrel. 
" Ah, but beautiful within him 
Was the spirit of Osseo, 
From the Evening Star descended, 
Star of Evening, Star of Woman, 
Star of tenderness and passion ! 
All its fire was in his bosom. 
All its beauty in his spirit, 



408 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

All its mystery in his being, 
All its splendor in his language ! 

" And her lovers, the rejected, 
Handsome men with belts of wampum, 
Handsome men with paint and feathers, 
Pointed at her in derision, 
Followed her with jest and laughter. 
But she said : ' I care not for you. 
Care not for your belts of wampum. 
Care not for your paint and feathers, 
Care not for your jests and laughter ; 
I am happy with Osseo ! ' 

" Once to some great feast invited, 
Through the damp and dusk of evening 
Walked together the ten sisters. 
Walked together with their husbands ; 
Slowly followed old Osseo, 
With fair Oweenee beside him ; 
All the others chatted gayly. 
These two only walked in silence. 

" At the western sky Osseo 
Gazed intent, as if imploring, 
Often stopped and gazed imploring 
At the trembling Star of Evening, 
At the tender Star of Woman ; 
And they heard him murmur softly, 
' Ah, shoioain nemeshin, Nosa ! 
Pity, pity me, my father ! ' 

" ' Listen ! ' said the eldest sister, 
' He is praying to his father ! 
What a pity that the old man 
Does not stumble in the pathway, 
Does not break his neck by falling ! ' 
And they laughed till all the forest 
Kang with their unseemly laughter. 

" On their pathway through the woodlands 
Lay an oak, by storms uprooted. 
Lay tlie great trunk of an oak-tree, 
Buried half in leaves and mosses. 
Mouldering, crumbling, huge, and hollow. 
And Osseo, when he saw it. 



HKNRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 409 

Gave a shout, a cry of anguisli, 

Leaped into its yawning cavern, 

At one end went in an old man, 

Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ; 

From the other came a young man. 

Tall and straight and strong and handsome. 

" Thus Osseo was transfigured, 
Thus restored to youth and beauty ; 
But, alas for good Osseo, 
And for Oweenee, the faithful ! 
Strangely, too, was she transfigured. 
Changed into a weak old woman, 
With a staff she tottered onward, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ! 
And the sisters and their husbands 
Laughed until the echoing forest 
Eang with their unseemly laughter. 

" But Osseo turned not from her. 
Walked with slower step beside her, 
Took her hand, as brown and withered 
As an oak-leaf is in Winter, 
Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, 
Soothed her with soft words of kindness 
Till they reached the lodge of feasting. 
Till they sat down in the wigwam, 
Sacred to the Star of Evening, 
To the tender Star of Woman. 

" Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, 
At the banquet sat Osseo ; 
All were merry, all were hajipy, 
All were joyous but Osseo. 
Neither food nor drink he tasted, 
Neither did he speak nor listen, 
But as one bewildered sat he, 
Looking dreamily and sadly, 
First at Oweenee, then upward 
At the gleaming sky above them. 

" Then a voice was heard, a whispei', 
Coming from the starry distance. 
Coming from the empty vastness. 
Low, and musical, and tender ; 



410 REPEESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And tlie voice said : ' O Osseo ! 
O my son, my best beloved ! 
Broken are the spells that bound you, 
All the charms of the magicians, 
All the magic powers of evil ; 
Come to me ; ascend, Osseo ! 

" ' Taste the food that stands before you ; 
It is blessed and enchanted. 
It has magic virtues in it, 
It. will change you to a spirit. 
All your bowls and all yotir kettles 
Shall be wood and clay no longer ; 
But the bowls be changed to wampum, 
And the kettles shall be silver ; 
They shall shine like shells of scarlet. 
Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. 

" ' And the women shall no longer 
Bear the dreary doom of labor, 
But be changed to birds, and glisten 
AVith the beauty of the starlight. 
Painted with the dusky splendors 
Of the skies and clouds of evening ! ' 

" What Osseo heard as whispers. 
What as words he comprehended, 
Was but music to the others. 
Music as of birds afar off, 
Of the whippoorwill afar off. 
Of the lonely Wawonaissa 
Singing in the darksome forest. 

" Then the lodge began to tremble, 
Straight began to shake and tremble. 
And they felt it rising, rising, 
Slowly through the air ascending, 
From the darkness of the tree-tops 
Forth into the dewy starlight. 
Till it passed the topmost branches ; 
And behold ! the wooden dishes 
All were changed to shells of scarlet ! 
And behold ! the earthen kettles 
All were changed to bowls of silver I 
And the roof-poles of the wigwam 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 411 

Were as glittering rods of silver, 
And the roof of bark upon them 
As the shining shards of beetles. 

" Then Osseo gazed around him, 
And he saw the nine fair sisters. 
All the sisters and their husbands. 
Changed to birds of various plumage. 
Some were jays and some Avere magpies, 
Others thrushes, others blackbirds ; 
And they hopped, and sang, and twittered, 
Perked and fluttered all their feathers, 
Strutted in their shining plumage. 
And then- tails like fans unfolded. 

" Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Was not changed, but sat in silence, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly. 
Looking sadly at the others ; 
Till Osseo, gazing upward. 
Gave another cry of anguish. 
Such a cry as he had uttered 
By the oak-tree in the forest. 

" Then returned her youth and beauty, 
And her soiled and tattered garments 
Were transformed to robes of ermine, 
And her staff" became a feather, 
Yes, a shining silver feather ! 

" And again the wigwam trembled. 
Swayed and rushed tlirough airy currents, 
Through transparent cloud and vapor. 
And amid celestial splendors 
On the Evening Star alighted. 
As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake, 
As a leaf drops on a river. 
As the thistle-down on water. 

" Forth with cheerful words of welcome 
Came the father of Osseo, 
He with radiant locks of silver. 
He with eyes serene and tender. 
And he said : ' My son, Osseo, 
Hang the cage of birds you bring there. 
Hang the cage with rods of silver. 



412 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

And the birds with glistening feathers, 
At the doorway of my wigwam.' 
* " At the door he hung the bird-cagej • 
And they entered in and gladly 
Listened to Osseo's father, 
Ruler of the Star of Evening, 
As he said : ' O my Osseo ! 
I have had comiiassion on you, 
Given you back your youth and beauty, 
Into birds of various plumage 
Changed your sisters and their husbands ; 
Changed them thus because they mocked you 
In the figure of the old man. 
In that aspect sad and wrinkled, 
Could not see your heart of passion. 
Could not see your youth immortal ; 
Only Oweenee, the faithful, 
Saw your naked heart and loved you. 

" ' In the lodge that glimraei-s yonder 
In the little star that twinkles 
Through the vapors, on the left hand, 
Lives the envious Evil Spirit, 
The Wabeno, the magician, 
Who transformed you to an old man. 
Take heed lest his beams fall on you, 
For the rays he darts around him 
Are the power of his enchantment, 
Are the arrows that he uses.' 

" Many years, in peace and quiet, 
On the peaceful Star of Evening 
Dwelt Osseo with his father ; 
Many years, in song and flutter, 
At the doorway of the wigwam, 
Hung the cage with rods of silver, 
And fair Oweenee, the faithful, 
Bore a son unto Osseo, 
With the beauty of his mother. 
With the courage of his father. 

" And the boy grew up and prospered, 
And Osseo, to delight him, 
Made him little bows and arrows, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 413 

Opened the great cage of silver, 
And let loose his aunts and uncles, 
All those birds with glossy feathers, 
For his little son to shoot at. 

" Round and round they wheeled and darted, 
Filled the Evening Star with music. 
With their songs of joy and freedom ; 
Filled the Evening Star with splendor. 
With the fluttering of their plumage ; 
Till the boy, the little hunter, 
Bent his bow and shot an arrow. 
Shot a swift and fatal arrow. 
And a bird, with shining feathers. 
At his feet fell wounded sorely. 

" But, O wondrous transformation ! 
'Twas no bird he saw before him, 
'Twas a beautiful young woman, 
With the arrow in her bosoin ! 

" When her blood fell on the planet. 
On the sacred Star of Evening, 
Broken was the spell of magic, 
Powerless was the strange enchantment, 
And the youth, the fearless bowman. 
Suddenly felt himself descending, 
Held by unseen hands, but sinking 
Downward through the empty spaces. 
Downward through the clouds and vapors, 
Till he rested on an island. 
On an island, green and grassy. 
Yonder in the Big-Sea-Water. 

"After him he saw descending 
All the birds with shining feathers. 
Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, * 

Like the painted leaves of Autumn ; 
And the lodge with poles of silver. 
With its roof like wings of beetles. 
Like the shining shards of beetles. 
By the winds of heaven uplifted, 
Slowly sank upon the island. 
Bringing back the good Osseo, 
Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. 



414 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

" Then the birds, again transfigured, 
Reassumed the shape of mortals. 
Took their shape, but not their stature ; 
They remained as Little People, 
Like the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies, 
And on pleasant nights of Summer, 
When the Evening Star was shining, 
Hand in hand they danced together 
On the island's craggy headlands. 
On the sand-beach low and level. 

" Still their glittering lodge is seen there, 
On the tranquil Summer evenings, 
And upon the shore the fisher 
Sometimes hears their happy voices, 
Sees them dancing in the starlight ! " 

When the story was completed, 
When the wondrous tale was ended, 
Looking round upon his listeners, 
Solemnly lagoo added : 
" There are great men, I have known such, 
Whom their people understand not, 
Whom they even make a jest of. 
Scoff and jeer at in derision. 
From the story of Osseo 
Let us learn the fate of jesters ! " 

All the wedding guests delighted 
Listened to the marvelous story, 
Listened_ laughing and applauding, 
And they whispered to each other : 
" Does he mean himself, I wonder ? 
And are we the aunts and uncles ? " 

Then again sang Chibiabos, 
Sang a song of love and longing, 
In those accents sweet and tender. 
In those tones of pensive sadness. 
Sang a maiden's lamentation 
For her lover, her Algonquin. 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved. 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 415 

" Ah me ! when I parted from him, 
Round my neck he hung the wampum, 
As a pledge, the snow-white wampum, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" I will go with you, he whispered, 
Ah me ! to your native country ; 
Let me go with you, he whispered, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" Far away, away, I answered, 
Very far away, I answered. 
Ah me ! is my native country, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" When I looked back to behold him, 
Where we parted, to behold him. 
After me he still was gazing, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" By the tree he still was standing, 
By the fallen tree was standing. 
That had dropped into the water, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 
"Vyhen my heart is thinking of him, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! " 

Such was Hiawatha's Wedding, 
Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Such the story of lagoo, 
Such the songs of Chibiabos ; 
Thus the wedding banquet ended. 
And the wedding guests departed. 
Leaving Hiawatha happy 
With the night and Minnehaha. 



XX. 

THE FAMINE. 

O THE long and dreary Winter ! 
O the cold and cruel Winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker. 
Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 



416 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 

Hardly fi'om his buried wigwam 
Could the hunter force a passage ; 
With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
Vainly walked he through the forest, 
Sought for bird or beast and Ibund none. 
Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
Li the snow beheld no fix>tj>rints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise fi"om weakness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 

O the famine and the fever ! 
O the wasting of the famine ! 
O the blasting of the fever ! 
O the wailing of the cliildren ! 

the anguish of the ivomen ! 

All the earth v;^as sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them. 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them ! 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
Waited not to be invited. 
Did not parley at the doorway, 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laugliing Water. 

And the foremost said : " Behold me I 

1 am Famine, Bukadawin ! " 

And the other said : " Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin I " 

And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her. 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 417 

At the looks they cast upon her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting, 
With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 
On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 

" Gitche Manito the Mighty ! " 
Cried he with his face ujilifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Give your children food, O father ! 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha ! " 

Through the far-resoimding forest, 
Through the forest vast and vacant 
Rang that cry of desolation. 
But there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying, 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
" Minnehaha ! ]\linnehaha ! " 

All day long rove Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest. 
Through the shadow of whose thickets. 
In the pleasant days of Summer, 
Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 
He had brought his young wife homeward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thickets. 
And the streamlets laughed and glistened, 
And the air was fuU of fragrance. 
And the lovely Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not tremble, 
" I will follow you, my husband 1 " 
27 



418 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
With those gloomy guests, that watched her, 
With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the Beloved, 
She the dying Minnehaha. 

" Hark ! " she said ; " I hear a rushing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from a distance ! " 
" No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, 
" 'Tis the night-wind in the pine-trees ! " 

" Look ! " she said ; " I see my father 
Standing lonely at his doorway, 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! " 
" No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, 
" 'Tis the smoke, that waves and beckons ! " 

" Ah ! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away amid the forest. 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha, 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

Over snow-fields waste and pathless, 
Under snow-encumbered branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing : 
" Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! 
Would that I had perished for you, 
Would that I were dead as you are ! 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

And he rushed into the wigwam. 
Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
Rocking to and fro and moaning, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW". 419 

Saw his lovely Minnelialia 
Lying dead and cold before hiin, 
And his bursting heart within him 
Uttered such a cry of anguish, 
That the forest moaned and shuddered, 
That the very stars in heaven 
Shook and trembled with his anguish. 

Then he sat down, still and speechless, 
On the bed of Minnehaha, 
At the feet of Laughing Water, 
At those willing feet, that never 
More would lightly run to meet him, 
Nevermore would lightly follow. 

With both hands his face he covered, 
Seven long days and nights he sat there, 
As if in a swoon he sat there, 
SpeecUess, motionless, unconscious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 

Then they buried Minnehaha; 
la the snow a grave they made her, 
In the forest deep and darksome. 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; 
Clothed her in her richest garments ; 
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, 
Covered her with snow, like ermine ; 
Thus they buried Minnehaha. 

And at night a fire was lighted. 
On her grave four times was kindled, 
For her soul upon its jom-ney 
To the Islands of the Blessed. 
From his doorway Hiawatha 
Saw it burning in the forest, 
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; 
From his sleepless bed uprising. 
From the bed of Minnehaha, 
Stood and watched it at the doorway, 
That it might not be extinguished. 
Might not leave her in the darkness. 

" Farewell ! " said he, " Minnehaha ! 
Farewell, O my Laughing Water ! 
All my heart is buried with you, 



420 EEPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

All my thoughts go onward with you I 
Come not back again to labor, 
Come not back again to suifer. 
Where the Famine and the Fever 
Wear the heaofc and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter ! " 

XXIT. 

Hiawatha's departure. 

By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big- Sea- Water, 
At the dooi'way of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant Summer morning, 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 

All the air was full of freshness, 
AU the earth was bright and joyous. 
And before him, tkrough the sunshine, 
Westward toward the neighboring forest 
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, 
Passed the bees, the honey-makers, 
Burning, singing in the sunshine. 

Bright above him shone the heavens, 
Level spread the lake before him ; 
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, 
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine ; 
On its margin the great forest 
Stood reflected in the water, 
Every tree-top had its shadow, 
Motionless beneath the water. 

From the brow of Hiawatha 
Gone was every trace of sorrow, 
As the fog from off the water. 
As the mist from off" the meadow. 
With a smile of joy and triumph, 
With a look of exultation, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 421 

As of one who in a vision, 
Sees what is to be, but is not, 
Stood and waited Hiawatha. 

Toward the sun his hands were lifted. 
Both the pahns spread out against it. 
And between the jiarted fingers 
Fell the sunshine on his features, 
Flecked with light his naked shoulders. 
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree 
Thi'ough the rifted leaves and branches. 

O'er the water floating, flying, 
Something in the hazy distance. 
Something in the mists of morning. 
Loomed and lifted from the water. 
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, 
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. 

Was it Shingebis the diver? 
Or the pelican, the Shada ? 
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah ? 
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, 
With the water dripping, flashing 
From its glossy neck and feathers ? 

It was neither goose nor diver, 
Neither pelican nor heron. 
O'er the water floating, flying, 
Through the shining mist of morning, 
But a birch-canoe with paddles, 
Rising, sinking on the water. 
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine ; 
And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabun, 
From the farthest realms of morning 
Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, 
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, 
With his guides and his companions. 

And the noble Hiawatha, 
With his hands aloft extended. 
Held aloft in sign of welcome, 
Waited, full of exultation. 
Till the birch-canoe with paddles 
Grated on the shining pebbles. 



422 REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS, 

Stranded on the sandy margin, 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Palo-face, 
With the cross upon liis bosom, 
Landed on the sandy margin. 
Then the joyous Hiawatha 
Cried aloud and spake in this wise : 
" Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, 
When you come so far to see us ! 
All our town in peace awaits you. 
All our doors stand open for you ; 
You shall enter all our wigwams. 
For the heart's right hand we give you. 
" Never bloomed the earth so gayly, 
Never shone the sun so brightly, 
As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you come so far to see us ! 
Never was our lake so tranquil. 
Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars ; ' 
For your birch-canoe in passing 
Has removed both rock and sand-bar. 

" Never before had our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor. 
Never the broad leaves of our cornfields 
Were so beautiful to look on. 
As they seem to us this morning, 
When you come so far to see us ! " 

And the Black-Robe chief made answer, 
Stammered in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar : 
" Peace be with you, Hiawatha, 
Peace be with you and your people. 
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, 
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary 1 " 

Then the generous Hiawatha 
Led the strangers to his wigwam, 
Seated them on skins of bison. 
Seated them on skins of ermine, 
And the careful old Nokomis 
Brought them food in bowls of bass-wood, 
Water brought in birchen dippers, 
And the calumet, the peace-pipe. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 423 

Filled and lighted for their smoking. 

All the old men of the village, 
All the warriors of the nation, 
All the Jossakeeds, the prophets, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the medicine-men, the Medas, 
Came to bid the strangers welcome. 
" It is well," they said, " O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

In a circle round the doorway. 
With their pipes they sat in silence. 
Waiting to behold the strangers. 
Waiting to receive their message ; 
Till the Black-Kobe chief, the Pale-face, 
From the wigwam came to greet them. 
Stammering in his speech a little. 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar ; 
" It is well," they said, " O brother. 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, 
Told his message to the people. 
Told the purport of his mission, 
Told them of the Virgin Mary, 
And her blessed Son, the Saviour, 
How in distant lands and ages 
He had lived on earth as we do ; 
How he fasted, prayed, and labored ; 
How the Jews, the tribe accursed. 
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him ; 
How he rose from where they laid him. 
Walked again with his disciples, 
And ascended into heaven. 

And the chiefs made answer, saying : 
" We have listened to your message. 
We have heard your words of wisdom. 
We will think on what you tell us. 
It is well for us, O brothers. 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then they rose up and departed 
Each one homeward to his wigwam. 
To the young men and the women, 



42J: REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 

Told the story of the strangers 

Whom the Master of Life had sent them 

From the shining land of Wabun. 

Heavy with the heat and silence 
Grew the afternoon of Summer ; 
With a drowsy sound the forest 
Whispered round the sultry wigwam, 
With a sound of sleep the water 
Rippled on the beach below it ; 
From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless 
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena ; 
And the guests of Hiawatha, 
Weary with the heat of Summer, 
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. 

Slowly o'er the simmering landscape 
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest. 
Breaking through its shields of shadow, 
Rushed into each secret ambush. 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow ; 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam. 

From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise. 
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered : 
" I am going, O Nokomis, 
On a long and distant journey, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keewaydin. 
But these guests I leave behind me, 
In your watch and ward I leave them ; 
See that never harm comes near them. 
See that never fear molests them. 
Never danger nor suspicion, 
Never want of food or shelter, 
In the lodge of Hiawatha ! " 

Forth into the village went he, 
Bade farewell to all the warriors, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 425 

Bade farewell to all the young men, 
Spake persuading, spake in this wise : 

" I am going, O my people. 
On a long and distant jom-ney ; 
Many moons and many winters 
Will have come, and will have vanished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 
But my guests I leave beliind me ; 
Listen to their words of wisdom, 
Listen to the truth they tell you. 
For the Master of Life has sent them 
From the land of light and morning ! " 

On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at parting ; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water ; 
Whispered to it, " Westward ! westward ! " 
And with speed it darted forward. 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness. 
Burned the broad sky, lUce a prahie, 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splendor, 
Down whose stream, as down a river, 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset. 
Sailed into the purple vapors. 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 

And the people from the margin 
Watched him floating, rising, sinking. 
Till the birch-canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendor, 
Till it sank into the vapors 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said, " Farewell forever ! " 
Said, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the forests dark and lonely 
Moved through all their depths of darkness, 



426 



REPRESENTATIVE SELECTIONS. 



Sighed, " Farewell, Hiawatha ! " 
And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her haunts among the fen-lands, 
Screamed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Beloved, 
In the glory of the sunset. 
In the purple mists of evening. 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keewaydin, 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter ! 



VOCABULARY. 



Adjidau'mo, the red squirrel. 

Ahkose'win, /ei'cr. 

Ahmeek', the beaver. 

Algon'quin, Ojibway. 

Apuk'vva, a bulrush. 

Baim-wa'wa, the sound of the thunder. 

Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior. 

B ukada'win, yiiwit ne . 

Chibia'bos, a musician. 

Ewa-yea', lullaby. 

Gitche Gu'mee, The Big-Sea-Water. 

Gitche Maa'ito, the Great Spirit. 

Hiawa'tha, the Wise Man. 

la-goo, a story-teller. 

Ishkoodah'i^re; a comet. 

Joss'akeed, a prophet. 

Kabibonok'ka, the North- Wind. 

Ka'go, do not. 

Kahgahgee', the raven. 

Kaween', no indeed. 

Keeway'din, the North ivestWind. 

Kena'beek, a serpent. 

Kuneu', the great war-eagle. 

Kwa'sind, the Strong Man. 

Mahng, tlie loon. 

Mahn-go-tay'see, loon-hearted ; brave. 

Ma'ma, the woodpecker. 

Man'ito, spirit. 



Minjekah'wun , Hiawatha^s mittens. 
Minnehr.'ha, Laughing Water, 
Minne-wa'wa, a pleasant sound. 
Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear. 
Mudjekee'wis, the West-Wind. 
Mudway-ausli'ka, sound of waves on a 

shore. 
Mushkoda'sa, the grouse. 
Nenemoo'sha, siveetheart. 
Noko'mis, a grandmother. 
Ope'chee, the robin. 
Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star. 
Owais'sa, the bluebird. 
Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshopper. 
Pau'guk, death. 

Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the Storm Fool. 
Pauwa'ting, Saut Sainte Marie. 
Pone'niah, hereafter. 
Puk-Wudj'ie.s, pigmies. 
Sha'da, the pelican. 
Shah-shah, long ago. 
Shawonda'see, t/ie South- Wind. 
Shaw'shaw, the sivallow. 
Shin'gebis, the diver. 
Showaiu' nenie'shin, pity me. 
Shuh-shuh'gaU, the blue heron. 
Soau-ge-ta'ha, strong-hearted. 
Wabas'so, the rabbit ; the North. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 427 

Wabe'no, a inagician ; a juggler. Wa'wa, the wild goose. 

Wa'bun, the East-Wind. Waw'beek, a rock. 

Wa'bun An'uung, the Star of the East; \Va\v-be-wa'wa, the white goose, 

the Morning Star. Wawonais'sa, the whippoorioill. 

Wahono'wia, a cry of lamentation. Wen'digoes, giants. 

Wah-wah-taj'see, the fire-fly. Yenadiz'ze, an idler and gambler. 

NOTES TO HIAWATHA. 

The prosody of this poem will at once attract attention. The verse is trochaic 
tetrameter, without rhyme. It is remarkable for its melodious and graceful flow, as 
well as for the happy adaptation to the general idea and design of the poem. The 
poem is a fine exemijlification of the perfection to which English poetry has now 
attained in respect of all the elements of high art, — richness of idea, flexibility of 
outward form with entire subordination to the idea, and graceful rendering of the 
idea in the form. As elsewhere observed, the farther advance of poetic art lies not in 
the perfecting of these several constituents of true artistic beauty, but in the rich- 
ness in the supply of these elements and of their combinations — an advance, it is 
needless to say, to which no limitations can be placed. 

Mr. Longfellow thus presents the origin of the materials of the poem. " Thi8 In- 
dian Edda, if I may so call it, is founded on a tradition prevalent among the North 
American Indians of a personage of miraculous birth, who was sent among them to 
clear their rivers, ft)rests, and fishing-grounds, and to teach them the arts of peace. 
He was known among different tribes by the several names of Michabou, Chiabo, 
Manabozo, Tarenyawagon, and Hiawatha." We easily recognize in hiui the genius 
of civilization, and delightedly follow his stoi-y in introducing first the ruder and 
then the higher arts, uniting in wise harmony artistic genius with mechanical force, 
allying himself to the natural conditions of his high labor, and finding at last his 
highest attainments in a Christian culture. 

*' The scene of the poem is among the Ojibways on the southern shore of Lake 
Superior, in the region between the Pictured Rocks and the Grand Sable." 

The Vale of Tawasenlha, now called Norman's Kill, is in Albany County, New 
York 



PART II. 



ELEMENTS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LIT- 
ERATURE. 



CHAPTER I. 

FORMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 

§ 1. Human speech is the communication of thought by 
means of articulate sound. 

Speech starts from thought. We speak because we 
have a thought to communicate. All study of language 
and of literature must recognize thought as the prompting 
occasion, the originating, vital principle of all speech. 

All speech is social. We speak because we wish to com- 
municate. The formation and growth of language proceed 
ever under the condition of parties communicating, speak- 
ing, and hearing. 

The medium of this communication is articulate sound. 

§ 2. But the thought to be comnumicated, in which 
human speech originates as its vital principle, is ever com- 
plex, embracing elements which it is important to distin- 
guish. In the first place, there is the object about which 
we think — the matter of the thought. In the second 
place, it is the speaker's thought to be commmiicated, and 
made the hearer's thought : there is the distinction of 
speaker and hearer implied in the thought to be comnumi- 
cated ; in other words, there is the distinction o^ personality. 
In the third place, there is the thinking itself about the 



FORMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 429 

object which is expressed or implied in all speech. We 
have thus the three distinct elements of the thought to be 
communicated; (1) the matter-element; (2) the personal, 
otherwise called the pronominal element ; (3) the proper 
thought-element. 

§ 3. The matter-element of the thought in speech is any 
thing of which we may think. It is of two kinds ; (1) that 
of which we think something — the subject ; (2) that which 
we think of the subject — the attribute. 

Language may begin with the thought of a subject, or 
the thought of an attribute. Adam, we are taught, gave 
names to the beasts of the field, as they were presented to 
him one after another, successively. He may have recog- 
nized the object first, — the beast of the field, as a single, 
concrete thing, a whole, before distinguishing any one 
attribute ; or he may have first recognized some one attri- 
bute, as size, color, motion, sound, and then referred this 
attribute to the object. Both ways of thinking are alike 
natural, alike common ; and as words are but the expres- 
sions of our thoughts, and are determined and shaped by 
them, the first words may as naturally be subject-words, 
since our first thoughts may be subject-thoughts, as attribute- 
words ; and the latter as naturally as the former, since our 
first thoughts may be attribute-thoughts. The child names 
its parent evidently as a subject first, and then afterwards 
thinks of the attribute which characterizes the parent, and 
extends that attribute to other beings. Nothing in the 
nature of the case, nothing in the nature of thought or of 
language, forbids the belief, then, that the beginning, the 
starting-point in the forming of words, was in either subject 
or attribute ; although it may be supposed that the subject 
would be rather taken in the infancy of language, and the 
attribute in the more advanced maturity of thought and 
speech. Herder, in his prize essay on the " Origin of 
Speech," supposes a sheep with its divers attributes — 
w^hite, soft, woolly — to present itself to the sight of the 



430 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

primitive man, the primitive speech-former ; the sheep at 
length bleats, and the name is at once suggested, as the 
primitive speaker exclaims, "■ Thou art the hleater." Speech 
is originated, so soon as the name is thus given to the 
object. It is just as natural "to suppose that the name 
should have been determined by any of the possible rela- 
tionships of the object to the observer, as by one of its in- 
herent attributes ; by the sheep's being in the field, a 
field-thing, as by the attribute of bleating, a bleating 
thing, or bleater. A visitor to a Deaf and Dumb Asylum 
related to a class of pupils a story which was strange and 
incredible. As soon as it was rendered to the class by the 
teacher, the whole class simultaneously made the sign 
^^ false." The visitor was ever afterwards known by that 
sign ; his name to them was " False." The name of the first 
object named, still further, it is perfectly supposable, may 
have been determined by any sound of surprise, of joy, or 
other feeling prompted by it, without the recognition of any 
attribute whatever, intrinsic or relative. But we cannot 
suppose speech to originate without an occasion — to begin 
out of all conditions ; and nothing but the object of which 
we think, can be recognized as such an occasion, or as fur- 
nishing such condition. Speech, then, begins with some 
object thought. It may be thought and occasionally named 
as a concrete whole, without reference to any particular 
attribute, whether of property or of relation, that is, as a 
subject ; or with governing reference to an attribute, either 
intrinsic or relative, that is, as a predicate. The fii'st words 
in language, and also new words that are not derived from 
those already in use, but are prompted directly by the 
objects which they denote, may be either subject-words or 
attribute-words. 

§ 4. The pronominal elements, by which is expressed 
first, the distinction of person speaking and of person hear- 
ing, and then of object spoken of, as discriminated from 
both speaker and hearer, must have been early originated. 



FORMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 431 

In fact we find to corroboi'ate this a priori supposition, a 
most remarkable agreement in the earliest languages, even 
in those most widely differing in other respects from one 
another, as to the articulate sounds to denote them. They 
are as a class to be characterized also as more stable and 
persistent elements of language, than those denoting objects 
of thought, showing far less liability to be wholly lost and 
abandoned, although subject to abrasions and distortions. 
They are readily distinguishable from the first class named 
— the object elements. Language could exist without them. 
Two persons, knowing nothing either one of the other's 
language, would not, probably, on beginning to converse 
with each other, express these personal distinctions at all, 
at first ; they might after a while designate them by ges- 
tures ; only after continued intercourse would articulate 
forms be introduced to express them. Those distinguishing 
the person speaking and the person hearing would come 
first into requisition ; afterwards, those denoting the object 
spoken, the proper demonstratives, or those of the " third 
person," so called in grammar. 

The pronominal elements, as we should suppose before- 
hand from their nature, are not traceable to words origi- 
nally denoting objects of thought. They are properly to be 
regarded as original elements. They include the personal 
pronouns, so called ; the demonstratives, or pronominal 
adjectives, as this, that, etc. ; the pronominal adverbs, as 
here, there, etc. ; and the pronominal interrogatives, as who, 
which, where, etc. The definite article may not improperly 
be also reckoned among the pronominal elements. It was 
primitively a demonstrative. 

The following list of English Pronominal Elements is 
taken mostly from the " Teutonic Etymology " of Prof. 
Gibbs : — 

1. First pers. sing, subject, case, I, a fragment of 
A.-S. ic. Cf., under Grimm's Law, § 35, Lat. eg o, and 
Ger. ich. 



432 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

2. First pers. sing, objective, M, as in me, my, mine. 

3. First pers.. plu., U, or 00, as in we (ooe), our, ours, us. 

4. Second pers. sing., TH, as in thou, thy, thine, thee. Cf. 
Lat. tu, Ger. du. 

5. Second pers. plu., T, as in ye, you, your, yours. 

6. Demonstratives : N, as in he, his, him, her, hers ; it 
(formerly hit), its ; hence, here, hither ; and TH, in they, their, 
theirs, them ; that, those, this, these ; the ; thence, thei'e, thither, 
then, thus ; also S, SH, in so, some, as, she. The th seems 
to have come from the earlier h, as they, their, them, are for 
the older Z!^s, her, him. Cf. Lat. hie, iste, sui ; Ger. der, sie, 
seiner. 

7. Interrogative and Relative WS, as in who, what, 
whose, whom, which, whether, whence, where, whither, when, 
how, why. Cf. Lat. qui, etc. ; Ger. wer, etc. 

§ 5. The proper thought element is probably a still later 
element in the origination and grow^th of language. The 
quality of the primitive thought would doubtless be affirm- 
ative ; and no special sign of affirmation would be required. 
In fact, the signs of affirmation in actual speech are ex- 
pressive only of degree, are intensives, or the contrary. 
The sign of negation is one of early introduction, and like 
the pronominal elements, had an independent origin, and 
cannot be traced to object-words. Like the pronominal 
elements, also, it appeared in widely differing languages 
under similar articulate form, the consonant n being very 
generally adopted as its proper sign. 

The sign of the proper assertive element, or, as it might 
be called, the copula element, comes in only at a still later 
stage in the development of language. Men would first 
say sun bright ; sun not bright, with no copula element, be- 
fore they would invent a proper sign of this element. And 
when it appears, it is only in an obscure, slippery form, ex- 
pressed by a mutable vowel, perhaps, or intimated in some 
other element, or denoted by a mark borrowed from some 
other use in language. The simple copula word is, has its 



FORMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 433 

origin in an attribute-word expressing existence, or more 
specifically perhaps, position. Although necessarily implied 
as an essential element in every sentence, in many languages 
it is expressed only when the assertion itself is to be em- 
phasized. The other copula words are of still later origin, 
and are all primitive attribute-words. The modifications 
of the copula expressed in what are called the moods of 
grammar, appear at first only in modifications of vowel 
elements, being distinguished by the diverse quantity or 
the diphthongal character of the vowel. In the remoter 
stages of language they appear in attribute-words borrowed 
from the original uses and called verb-auxiliaries. Final- 
ly the subordinate modifications come to be expressed by 
words originally attribute-words, but in this case called 
modals, as certainly, perhaps, etc. 

The stages of progress, thus, in the introduction into 
language of the proper thought-element with its modifica- 
tions are these : — 

First, It is only implied, not expressed. Secondly, The 
negative thought is distinguished by the sign n, \vith a 
vowel if needed. Thirdly, The positive thought is denoted 
by a peculiar word or form of the word taken from an ob- 
ject or attribute element. Fourthly, The modes of the 
copula or proper thought-element are distinguished by pe- 
culiar vowels. Fifthly, Auxiliaries are introduced which 
are originally principal attribute-words or verbs. Sixthly, 
Modals are supplied to modify still more precisely the 
thought as to mode or degree of intensity. 

§ 6. The necessities of social intercourse would bring in 
modifications of all these principal elements of thought in 
speech. These modifications would naturally be expressed 
by means of the elements already introduced. The objects 
of thought would be modified either by other objects of 
thought, or by pronominal or by copula elements. In the 
ruder or monosyllabic stage the object modifying would 
simply be jjlaced before the object modified, as in the 

28 



434 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

Chinese, and as in English, mountain scenery. In the 
more advanced, the so-called agglutinative stage, the 
words expressing the object modified and the modifying 
object would be combined in one word under the accent, 
as handbill, manhood. In the most advanced stage, the 
relations of the parts of the thought to be expressed are 
indicated by special forms attached to the words to be so 
modified. We have then affixes and suffixes used as modi- 
fying elements. In other words, injieclion becomes a char- 
acteristic of the language. 

While object-words are used to denote modifications in 
respect to properties, the pronominal elements are em- 
ployed to modify in respect to conditions and relations. 
Being united to the object- word they give rise to gram- 
matical case. 

Still further, words originally denoting objects come at 
length to be used simply to express relations ; as prepo- 
sitions, taking the place of inflections, to express relations 
in the matter of thought, and conjunctions, to express rela- 
tions in the thought itself. Those with others constitute 
a class of words called form-words, to distinguish them 
from words called notion-ivords, which denote objects of 
thought — either primitive subjects, or attribiites, or forms 
of the thought itself, and their various modifications. 

§ 7. In a fully developed language we find the different 
kinds of notion-words distinguished more or less perfectly 
from one another by some peculiarity in the form. 

In the first place, original subject-words, called concretes, 
are distinguished in their form from words used as subject- 
words, but originally denoting attributes, called abstracts ; 
sun is a concrete ; light is an abstract. 

In the next place, words to be modified, called principal 
words, are distinguished from modifying words, called modi- 
fiers. Thus we have the prediccde-adjective distinguished 
to some extent in some languages from the proper modify- 
ing-adjective. 



FORMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 435 

Still further, the modifiers of words that can be used as 
subjects, whether these words are concretes or abstracts, 
— such modifiers, called adjectives, are distinguished from 
modifiers of proper attribute-words, that is adverbs ; and 
both are distinguished from modifiers of proper judgment- 
words, that is, words expressing thought or assertion. 
These copula modifiers are called modah. 

Then, finally, we have words denoting the matter of 
thought, nouns and their modifiers distinguished from words 
denoting the thinking itself, called verbs, in which, how- 
ever, we generally find the expression of the attribute and 
that of the thought or judgment combined in the same word. 
Speak, thus combines in itself both attribute and copula. 

To this enumeration of notion-words, namely, nouns, 
verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and modals, should be added 
the article. This part of speech rises far on in the progress 
of language, as it is founded remotely on the pronominal 
element. Most concrete nouns in language are class- 
nouns or common nouns, which are names of classes of ob- 
jects that are brought together on the ground of having 
some attribute in common. It becomes convenient to be 
able to indicate one of the individuals or of the species 
that make up a class. This is effected by the article ; the 
one, the definite article, the, marking definitely which in- 
dividual or species is meant ; the other, the indefinite 
article, a or an, marking indefinitely some one individual 
or species of the class. As has been intimated, pronom- 
inal words, or a class closely allied to them — numerals — 
are borrowed to express the articles. 

In respect to the form of these various parts of speech, 
it should be observed also that they may consist of single 
words, or of a number of words. If two or more words are 
used to express merely relations in the matter of thought, 
we have parts of sentences called phrases ; if they are used 
to express relations in the thought itself, expressing or im- 
plying verbs, and thus containing the assertive or copula 
element, we have parts of sentences called clauses. 



4-^6 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

§ 8. The formative elements of language are either 
parts of words or words by themselves. They are used to 
indicate relations, either in the matter of thought, in the 
thought itself, or in the form of the expression. 

Thus, to indicate relations in the matter of thought or 
modifications of it, these formative elements are used to 
indicate sometimes the quality or kind of object, as in the 
case of the gender of nouns, which is expressed sometimes 
by a change in the form of the word itself, as actor, actress, 
sometimes by compounding, as he-goat, she-goat, land-lord, 
land-lady. Sometimes they express not quality, but quan- 
tity, as in grammatical numher. These modifiications in the 
matter of thought are diversely expressed, either by affixes 
or by changes in the elements of words. 

In like manner to indicate special modifications or rela- 
tions in the thought itself, we have, as already noticed, pe- 
culiar forms for subject-words, or concretes, distinguishing 
them from abstracts, or attributes, and also the forms for 
expressing the relations of case. 

Still further, we find in the most fully developed dialects 
forms for showing the relations of words to one another in 
the sentence ; as in the inflections of verbs, and adjectives, 
in respect to number, person, gender, and case, to show to 
what nouns they refer. These inflections do not mark any 
modifications in the thought itself or in the object of 
thought; they only serve to show the construction, the 
syntax of the sentence — to indicate, in short, what words 
are to be taken together to express the thought. Audi o 
thus differs from audi mus only in referring the same at- 
tribute, hearing, to a single speaker, while the latter form 
refers at once to a plural subject. 

Formative elements in the form of distinct words are 
introduced into language to indicate either various rela- 
tions in the matter of thought, or in the thought, or the 
form of expression. These form-words may be summarily 
presented as of the following classes : — 



I 



FORMATIOM AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 437 

1. Prepositions, indicating relations of objects of thought; 

2. Conjunctions, indicating relations in the thought it- 
self; 

3. Auxiliaries, used to help out inflections ; 

4. Expletives, indicating some rhetorical relation ; 

5. Interjections, indicating a modification of thought by 
some feeling. 

§ 9. The medium through which thought is communi- 
cated, as before stated, is articulate sound. In order that 
it should serve as such a medium, it is evident, the sound 
must be accepted, by both speaker and hearer, as symbol- 
izing the thought. In other words, the sound must be 
identified, in some way, with the thought, so as to be recog- 
nized by both as expressing it. This may be in several 
different ways. 

First, certain articulate sounds are natural expressions 
of certain thoughts, especially such as are generally em- 
bodied in feelings. Thus, contempt and scorn find a nat- 
ural expression in nasal articulations ; affection and endear- 
ment in labials. Such associations of sentiment with 
sound might give origin to words, or, in combination with 
other associations, determine their form, so that speaker 
and hearer should recognize them as symbolizing the 
thought. Some theorists go so far as to attribute the 
origin of speech exclusively to this principle of associa- 
tion, or of natural expression. Theix's is the so-called In. 
terjectional theory of language. It is founded only in par- 
tial truth. 

Secondly, many objects in nature have a sound peculiar 
to them Avhich may be more or less perfectly imitated in 
articulation. The wind whispers, the crow croaks, the horse 
neighs. So, feelings expressed in interjections are imitated 
in articulated sounds to form words ; thus, the feeling of 
pain expressed in the interjection ah, is imitated in the 
word ache. A theory has hence originated which founds 
language in the imitation of natural sounds — the Imitative 



438 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE'. 

or Onomatopoetic theory. It is, like the first named, only 
of partial truth. They both point to an association or 
identification of the thought with the sound, as the indis- 
pensable condition of introducing an articulate sound to 
symbolize the thought. These two grounds of association 
are undoubtedly principles of wide application in the 
forming and transforming of words ; but the more correct 
view is that word-formation may be grounded on any kind 
of identification of the sound with the thought possible in 
human experience, not on natural ejaculatory expression 
alone, or on imitation of sound alone, or on both conjointly 
to the exclusion of other^grounds of association. 

The formation of language implies other identifications 
than those of the articulate sound with the thought to be 
expressed. After speech has begun with ejaculations, and 
imitations of natural sounds, the words thus introduced, 
both through themselves as sounds and also through the 
objects which they symbolize, can be identified with other 
thoughts indefinitely, and thus furnish the necessary con- 
dition for the indefinite growth of language. Language is 
too far advanced from its beginnings to justify much reli- 
ance on the etymology of primitive words ; yet there is 
nothing improbable in su23posing that ha being taken to 
symbolize the imperfect articulations of a child, the word 
might, with slight changes, adopted perhaps for the very 
purpose of meeting the change in meaning, be applied to 
the utterance itself; or to the child that makes it ; to any 
person or thing that makes a similar sound, as bahhler, bah- 
hling brook ; to the place where imperfect or unintelligible 
utterances arq made, as Babel; in short, to any thought 
that can by any accident of quality, effect, condition of 
place or time, or relation of any kind, in whole or in part, 
in respect of soimd or meaning, be associated with it or 
any of its derivatives or modifications. The general fact 
is, that tvords are formed freely on the condition of any iden- 
tification of the sound with the object of thought, immediate 
or remote. 



FOKMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 439 

§ 10. The primitive words of language, as has been al- 
ready observed, would naturally be, for the most part, 
although not of necessity universally, single utterances — 
monosyllables. Those languages we have accordingly 
ranked as being of the first or lowest gradation, the words 
in which are mainly monosyllables. They are of course 
characterized as having no accentuations, no inflections, 
no formative elements. No language is absolutely and 
strictly of this character ; but in some, as the Chinese, 
this type prevails and gives character to them. We have 
recognized a great advance in the progress of language 
when it comes to admit freely combinations of words into 
one under a single accent. Languages in which this type 
prevails we have marked as of the second gradation. They 
are called agglutinative languages. We have recognized 
as the last stage in the development of language, that in 
which not merely modifications of objects of thought, as in 
the agglutinative type, but relations in the thought itself 
through the formative elements, so called, are freely ex- 
pressed. This type has been denominated the Inflectional. 

It should be observed, that these stages are only stages 
of development, and are not necessarily exact chronological 
stages. It by no means follows that a language is older 
than another because it is less developed, or has less of an 
inflectional character. A very highly inflected language 
has developed itself almost at once out of a monosyllabic 
or agglutinative type ; and highly inflected languages rap- 
idly wear off the merely formative parts of words on the 
intermixture of tribes speaking different dialects. " Tura- 
nian languages," says Prof. Max Mliller,^ meaning by this 
designation those generally classed as of the second or ag- 
glutinative stage, " are so pliant that they bend themselves 
to endless combinations and complexities, unless a national 
literature or a frequent intercourse with other tribes act as 
safeguards against dialectical schism. Tribes who have no 
1 Report on Turaniaa Languages in Bunsen's Outlines, i. 482, 433. 



440 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

literature and no sort of intellectual occupation seem occa- 
sionally to take a delight in working their languge to the 
utmost limits of grammatical expansion." The English, 
although a very recent language, has little of the inflec- 
tional element ; while some of the oldest languages which 
.have a literature rank among the highest in this respect. 

§ 11. Language, as the communication of thought through 
articulate sound, is ever changing. It changes with the 
ever varying thought of the community that speak it ; it 
changes in the kind of thoughts expressed, and the number 
of thoughts, in the kind and number of words, and of the 
relations expressed through the various forms ; it changes 
in the sounds, through all the influences that can affect 
articulation, either subjectively and immediately through 
facility of utterance, or objectively and mediately through 
agreeableness of effect on the ear. 

If social thought is active and inventive, the dialect will 
grow in its vocabulary and in its formative elements with 
comparative rapidity. If social thought be stagnant, the 
dialect will be stagnant. Its vocabulary may change from 
mere mental inertia of retention, as sheer necessity may 
occasion the introduction of new words ; but its formative 
elements, if there be any, will tend to die out. 

A literature, even if only oral, as in traditions, legends, 
songs, and the like, but especially if written, is the great 
conservative force in language, pi'eserving woi'ds, preserv- 
ing grammatical forms. 

So, likewise, large communities, speaking the same lan- 
guage, if the communication be active, are more conserva- 
tive than small communities. Small wandering tribes, 
characterized as they are by poverty of thought as of goods, 
if without a literature, must have meagre vocabularies, and 
few or no grammatical elements. Their dialects may change 
entirely in a few generations. It has been ascertained that 
even in England, the entire vocabulary of some of the 
peasantry contains less than three hundred words ; and in 



FORMATION AND GROWTH OF LANGUAGE. 441 

some heathen tribes, missionaries have found a dictionary 
to become useless after a period of ten years. In the early 
state of the race, when families or tribes were wandering 
from place to place, with no literature, even although they 
may have proceeded from one stock, and originally have 
spoken the same dialect, a few years would suffice to oblit- 
erate the primitive language among them, and there would 
be almost as many dialects as separate tribes or families. 
If, in some cases, the dialect should happen through the 
mere stagnancy of the thought to become crystallized, so 
as to be transmitted unchanged from generation to genera- 
tion, in other cases, where great activity of thought in social 
directions, especially if characterized by an imaginative and 
inventive cast, happened to prevail, the language which 
would naturally embody this social activity of thought would 
become rich both in vocabulary and in formative elements. 

Still further, in a nomadic condition, as small roving 
tribes, speaking different dialects, met with one another in 
friendship or in strife, even if these dialects were inflected 
to a greater or a less degree, the object-words would of 
necessity come most into use ; the formative elements 
would be dropped, and the resulting dialect, if the tribes 
continued together, would be a lapse back to the more 
primitive stages — would be at first, at least, more agglu- 
tinative, or more monosyllabic, until from this relatively 
primitive germ, a new language-forming movement should 
start. Such is the teaching of all history. Such especially 
is the teaching of the history of the English tongue. 

Language is ever changing. It changes with the social 
thought of the community that speak it, with the kind, the 
objects, and the directions of thought, and with the degree 
of social activity. It begins with the simplest articulate 
utterances accidentally associated with the object of thought 
common to those that form it. Words denoting objects 
come soon to be used to denote relations of thought. 
Notion-words become form-words. Words at first mono- 



442 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

syllabic become by composition, by derivation, by inflection, 
polysyllabic, and receive accent. Words thus change and 
increase in number as the wants of the community change 
and increase ; they change in their meanings ; they change 
in their forms. The literature of a people also changes ; 
it changes in so far as the language changes ; it changes, 
moreover, as the great objects which determine the perma- 
nent embodiments of its thought change ; it changes espe- 
cially and preeminently with the progress of the people in 
intelligence and culture. The regulative principles of the 
change in English literature, in these two ways, of its 
permanently embodied thought, drawn out in reference 
to the great ends of a nation's life and of its language, 
will be presented in order in the following chapters, as 
they are applied to the several elements of the language, 
and to the departments of the literature. 



CHAPTER II. 

DEPARTMENTS OF LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

§ 12. The literature of a people is the permanent em- 
bodiment of its thought in its language. The relation of 
a literature to a language corresponds exactly to that of 
the rhetorical discourse to the grammatical sentence. Lit- 
erature is the collective of the discourse-forms, as language 
is the collective of the sentence-forms. The former is the 
subject-matter of Rhetoric, as the latter is the subject- 
matter of Grammar. The proper distribution of the de- 
partments of English literature, including its language, is 
thus at once indicated. We have the two grand depart- 
ments (1) of Literature Proper, taking into view the forms 
which English discourse has in its history assumed, and (2) 
of Language, taking into view the forms which the English 
sentence has in its history assumed. 

Beginning with language, as the elements of the sen- 
tence are its respective alphabetic sounds and their written 
characters, their combinations into syllables, and the com- 
binations of these into words, and then the construction 
of these into the sentence, in written as well as in spoken 
form, in poetry as well as in prose, we have at once given 
to us the several departments of, 1. Orthoepy; 2. Or- 
thography ; 3. Syllabication ; 4. Accentuation ; 5. 
Derivation ; 6. Punctuation ; and 7. Prosody. 

Then, as rhetorical discourse distributes itself into the 
three general forms of, (1) Oratory; (2) Representative 
Discourse, comprising the two departments of Historical 
and Scientific Literature ; and (3) Esthetic Literature or 



444 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

Belles Letters, comprising Fiction, Dramatic Literature, 
and Poetry, we have in addition as the departments of 
Literature Proper, 8. Oratory ; 9. History, comprising 
Biography and Travels ; 10. Scientific Discourse ; 
11. Fiction; 12. The Drama; and 13. Poetry. 

These elements of English literature, in respect to their 
character or more permanent forms, as embodied in written 
discourse, will be treated successively in this order. 



CHAPTER III. 

ENGLISH ORTHOEPY. 

§ 13. Orthoepy is the doctrine of the alphabetic sounds 
of a language. 

These sounds are of two kinds, distinguished in respect 
of the nature of the sound itself, according as it is properly 
vocal or not. They are, in other words, either (1) pJdhon- 
gal or vocalized ; or (2) aphthongal or unvocalized. 

They are also of two kinds in respect of the mode in 
which the articulating organs act in forming them, accord- 
ing as they occlude or not the sound as it passes from the 
larynx. They are, in other words, either (1) vowels, which 
do not require any occlusion of the vocal breath, that is, 
any necessary contact in the organs ; or (2) consonants, 
which do require such occlusion or contact of organs. 

We have thus in language, 1. Vowels, phthongal and 
aphthongal ; and 2. Consonants, phthongal and aphthongal. 

When it is said that vowels do not require any occlusion 
of the breath, it is only meant that they can be formed 
without such occlusion, although in fact they are often 
formed with some degree of occlusion. This incidental 
occlusion, however, does not modify essentially their proper 
distinctive sound. If this effect of modifying the sound 
be produced, we have what may be called consonantized 
vowels ; that is, vowels modified by a partial contact of the 
articulating organs. Thus the short * as heard in pit, be- 
comes consonantized into the sound heard in alien by a 
partial contact of the organs ; and the oo in pool becomes 
in a similar way the consonantized w in wain. 



446 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

The alphabetic elements are further susceptible of being 
arranged for important purposes in the study of languages 
and literatures, in respect of the position of the organs 
concerned in forming them. In fact some are formed far- 
ther back, some farther forward in the mouth ; in some the 
palate, in others the tongue, in others still the lips are more 
immediately concerned. We have accordingly, palatal, 
Imgual, and labial elements. The vowels even, although 
independent of such organic occlusion of the breath as the 
consonants involve, seem at least to have their respective 
position as anterior or posterior in the mouth. For although 
the determination of the proper vowel sound is in all prob- 
ability at the larynx, yet the length of the vocal vibration 
which is thus determined at the larynx, and probably by 
the widening or contracting of the opening of the glottis, 
can be sensibly measured forwards in the mouth. We can 
distinguish thus the dijfferent vowels by the sensible vibra- 
tion of the breath along the cavity of the mouth. The 
vibration which gives the sound of the vowel o in bone is 
sensibly terminated far back in the mouth, while the vibra- 
tion giving the vowel e in mete reaches far on towards the 
lips. 

§ 14. The history of the rise of the vowel sounds can 
only be given conjectu rally. It is altogether reasonable 
to suppose that the primitive vowel element would be that 
seemingly formed in the middle of the passage from the 
larynx to the lips, namely, the a as heard in father. For- 
ward of this vowel the e in pen and i in pin, and back of 
it the in pole and u in pull would soon come into use. 
These five vowels form a vowel system, in fact, very gen- 
erally found in languages. 

But each of these elements admits of being more or less 
protracted in utterance ; giving rise to the distinctions of 
quantity as long or short ; as in papo, Cub« ; and this dis- 
tinction may or may not in time come to be accompanied 
by a slightly different modification of the organs in forming 
them, as in pool, pull. 



ENGLISH ORTHOEPY. 447 

This was the vowel system of the Anglo-Saxon lan- 
guage, as it is mainly that of the languages of Europe, 
namely, Jive vowels varied in quantity, as long or short 
and open or close. But in addition to these five vowel 
elements, the Anglo-Saxon seems to have had a modifica- 
tion of the vowel a which was represented by ae, as in 
faer, fare; also of the i, sometimes represented by y, as 
niys, mice. 

Out of this system have arisen a number of vowel-modi- 
fications which originated doubtless at first with individ- 
uals from inaccurate hearing, from careless articulation, or 
from proper principles of euphony, founded either in agree- 
able effect on the ear or in easy enunciation. Such modi- 
fications beginning thus, and then spreading into families, 
neighborhoods, and larger communities, finally become the 
accepted alphabetic sounds of the language. The Anglo- 
Saxon had, as already observed, a modification of the a 
which came to be represented by ae, as faer, fare ; and of 
i represented by y and also by ^ accented, as mys, mice ; 
lif, life. Besides this modification of the primitive vowel 
a, there has been developed in English by precession the . 
a sound heard in fate ; and by recession the a sound, long 
in all and short and close in what. From the primitive u 
or 00 has been developed the u sound in but ; of which 
element it may be remarked in passing, that being formed 
farthest back and consequently having the least sensible 
modification of all the vowels, it is easily substituted for 
any one of the other vowels in unaccented syllables. Thus, 
before r, each of the primitive vowels tends to pass into 
this sound. The long sound of the ^ in pin is no longer rep- 
resented by i as formerly, except in some words from the 
French, as in caprice, and in words where it is represented 
by ie, as field, shield, A.-S. fid, scild ; but generally and char- 
acteristically by e, as in beetle, hear, A.-S. bitel, hiran and 
heran, while the old sound of the i has generally passed 
into the vowel sound heard in life, time, A.-S. lif tima. The 



448 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

primitive vowel e in pen when long is now rarely rep- 
resented by this character ; we sometimes hear it, how- 
ever, in some provincialisms, as in peas, beans, there, 
neither, pronomiced nearly as if written paze, bains, 
thayer, nayther. It should be borne in mind, however, that 
the vowel elements are characterized as unstable. Dif- 
ferent peoples, the same people in different ages, different 
provinces, different neighborhoods, different individuals, 
utter what is generally recognized as the same element 
with slightly varying modifications. This element, repre- 
sented by the character e, once probably uttered in the 
same way, has come in the progress of time to be so di- 
versely modified that the character by itself no longer in- 
dicates the exact sound intended to be represented by it. 

Two of the vowels, the u or oo and the i in pin, when 
preceding other vowels, as already intimated, show a strong 
tendency to become consonantized, that is, to be modified 
by a partial contact of the articulating organs — by a partial 
occlusion. The Anglo-Saxon generally, but not imiformly, 
represented the consonantized m by a doubled ti, a w, 
as cwie and cuic, quick ; cwellan and cuellan, to kill, to 
quell. It also consonantized the i in pin, as ierd, yard ; 
iung, young ; and even the initial e before a vowel as Ead- 
ward, eow, you, were pronounced Tadward, yow. That 
the w and y are more correctly to be treated as vowel ele- 
ments appears not only from the fact that they have sprung 
from primitive vowels u and i, but also that the essential 
vowel character is not destroyed, but is only slightly modi- 
fied by the occlusion of the organs. The w may be per- 
fectly formed without any cooperation of the lips. These 
two elements have a rank between the so-called semi- 
vowels I and r and the unmodified vowels. 

There are two aphthongal vowels h and ivh — both being 
formed without necessary occlusion of the organs and both 
being without voice. The ivh is the aphthongal cognate of 
the 00 or «>, § 20 (1). It may not be far out of the way 



ENGLISH ORTHOEPY. 449 

to regard the h as the a,phthongal cognate of the protean 
vowel heard in but,Jir, etc.-^ 

The vowels are the most uncertain and most unstable of 
the alphabetic elements. The consonants form the pei- 
manent skeleton and frame-work of the word, and give it its 
character. The vowels are often not written, as in the 
Semitic languages. They are left to be made out from the 
consonants and the sense. The Slavonic dialects, likewise, 
have few vowels, and we find such written forms as 
siwt, and the dissyllable wjti: The vowels accordingly 
change most easily in the progress of language. This is 
abundantly exemplified in the transformations from the 
Anglo-Saxon into English. Thus, the A.-S. ae has 
changed in different words, into every vowel of our sys 
tern, as in aecer, acre ; aelmesse, alms ; aet, at ; aell, all ; 
aeff, egg ; aefen, even ; aeh, eye ; Aenglisc, English (pro- 
nounced Inglish) ; aef\ of; aec, oak ; aen, one. So we find 
A.-S. a changing to different vowels, as hacan, bake ; ianc, 
bank ; aldor or ealdor, elder ; agan, own ; feallan, fall ; 
colian, cool. Likewise the A.-S. e, as dear, dare ; death, 
death (once also written deeth) ; hed, bed ; beor, beer ; 
beorth, birth ; jlede, flood. The A.-S. i, also, as birian, 
bury ; blind, blind ; blis, bliss ; jlis, fleece ; bietl and bytel, 
beetle ; bien and bean, bean ; iw, ewe ; hirce, birch ; iong 
and iung, young ; iagul, gargle. The A.-S. o, moreover, 
as crop, crop ; cofa, cove ; boc, book ; col, cool ; blod, blood ; 
moder, mother ; mont and munt, mount. And lastly the 
A.-S. u, as bux, box ; luf, love ; duru, door ; murnan, 
mourn ; mul, mule ; mus, mouse ; burigan, bury. 

It is remarkable that while the vowel sounds evince this 

1 In 1843 there appeared in the Biblical Repository, a quarterly periodi- 
cal published in New York, a systematic view of English Phonology, em- 
bracing substantially the views presented in the text. - A number of years 
after, Dr. Briicke of Vienna published a system of Phonology presenting 
the same distinction between vowels and consonants, and arranging the 
vowel elements in the same order. This order, thus independently ar- 
rived at, would seem to be sufficiently established to require its adoption 
in all methodical expositions of the alphabetic elements. 
20 



450 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATUEE. 

mutability when under the accent and between consonants, 
they show great constancy at the end of unaccented syl- 
lables. Thus the old A.-S. sound is retained in a-way, 
Nor-na, bu-r^-al, bet-o-ny. This peculiarity gives a law of 
pronunciation to the modern English. The e, however, 
forms an exception. The law is this : The vowels a, i, and 
at the end of unaccented syllables have the primitive 
sounds respectively of a in father, i in pit, and o in note, 
but short and close. If they stand at the end of accented 
syllables, the first two take the derived sounds respectively, 
of a in fate, and of i in pine. 

§ 15. The consonant system of a language may be con- 
ceived of as developed from one of extreme simplicity, in 
which only such elements appear as require a perfect oc- 
clusion of the breath by the three articulating organs, — 
the palate, the tongue, and the lips. Although it is not 
probable that language ever began thus, exclusively with 
these three classes of elements, for other elements as well 
or better imitate natural sounds, and may therefore reason- 
ably be supposed to have been first used, as indeed the 
onomatopoetic theory of language seems to imply ; still for 
purposes of study it may be more convenient to ground 
the classification on the inherent characteristics of the ele- 
ments than on the chronological order of their intro- 
duction, especially as we have no history of this succession 
of appearance. We may accordingly recognize the per- 
fect palatal, lingual, and labial consonants, in the forma- 
tion of which the organs perfectly cut off the breath in its 
passage forward, as constituting the basis of the consonant- 
system in language. 

These perfect consonant-elements are phthongal or aph- 
thongal. 

The perfect phthongal consonants are of two classes: 
(1.) Those in which the vocalized breath passes forward 
only to the barrier of the occluding organs and is vibrated 
on them so as to receive their peculiar quality, as g, d, b, 



ENGLISH ORTHOEPY. 451 

called pures ; and (2.) Those in which the vocalized 
breath vibrated on these organs is allowed to pass back- 
ward through the nostrils, as ng^ n, and m, called nasals. 

The perfect aphthongal consonants have no vocality, in 
themselves, but as combined with other elements they af- 
fect the continuous sound which is given forth while the 
utterance passes from them or to them, to or from the ele- 
ments with which they are combined. Only thus relatively 
and in combination have they any character as elements 
of language. They are k, t, and p. They have been called 
check-sounds ; also mutes in the narrower sense, — this 
name in its wider use embracing with this also the other 
two classes of perfect consonants mentioned. 

From the nature of the case, these are the only possible 
perfect consonants, as there are only three sets of articu- 
lating organs by which the breath can be properly occluded 
in its passage forwards. 

They are of all the consonants the farthest removed in 
their nature from the vowels ; and hence, from being at the 
greatest contrast, the combinations of these elements with 
the vowels are the most agreeable to the ear. 

They occur in almost all languages ; and are the most 
fixed and determinate in their character of all the alpha- 
betic elements. If in the progress of language they 
change, the changes are under the most easily determined 
principles, and are most regular and uniform. 

They form a complete system by themselves ; as we 
have — 

1. Palatal, pure, nasal, and aphthongal, g, iig, k ; 

2. Lingual, " " " <l,n, t; 

3. Labial, " " " b, xxi, p. 

On this basis of the nine perfect consonants, we have 
built up two other systems of imperfect consonants, the 
general characteristic of both of which is that the organs 
in forming them but partially occlude the breath. 



452 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

The first of these two systems of imperfect consonants 
consists of those in which the breath is vibrated upon the 
occluding organs. They have been not inappropriately 
called f7'icatives. They are phthongal or aphthongal. Here 
belong — 

1. Palatals, phthongal gh, and its aphthongal kli ; 

2. Linguals, (1) " zh, " sli ; 

(2) " z, " s; 

(3) " ttiinthen, " tliin thin; 
3. Labials, " v, " f. 

Of these the Anglo-Saxon had neither the zh as this 
element is heard in azure, nor its cognate aphthongal sh, 
as heard in sure. These two elements probably came into 
the language with the introduction of French words ; as in 
a rapid utterance of such words as passion (pass-yon) and 
nation (nat-yon) the combination of the s and the t with 
the consonantized i would easily pass into the single element 
sh, as dmr?ial, Lat. diurnalis, had already passed into jour- 
nal, Ital. giornale ; and the combination of the phthongal 
z with the i, would pass into the single element heard in 
azure. The two palatals of this class belonged to the 
Anglo-Saxon, and were represented by g and h, but have 
disappeared as sounds from the English. We find traces 
of this disappearance in the silent digraph gh in such 
words as through, borough. 

The other of these two systems of imperfect consonants 
embraces those elements in the formation of which the 
breath is not vibrated on the partially occluding organs, 
but is allowed to pass freely, so far resembling the vowel 
sounds, and hence not improperly called semi-vowels. They 
also closely resemble the nasal perfect consonants which 
are sometimes ranked with them as semi-vowels, as in both 
classes the breath is not vibrated on the obstructing or- 
gans. Here belong the I and the r elements, which were 
aphthongal as well as phthongal in Anglo-Saxon ; as, Mot, 
lot ; hlud, loud ; hring, ring ; hrost, roost. They also are 
found as aphthongal in other languages, being the merely 



ENGLISH ORTHOEPY. 



453 



unvocalized or aspirated I and r, as the Greek /j (rho,) when 
at the beginning of a word, and the Welsh II as in Llewellyn. 

The aphthongal I and r of the Anglo-Saxon has gen- 
erally been replaced by the cognate phthongal in modern 
English, as exemplified above ; hlioth, cloth ; hleow, cloud ; 
hraefen, raven and crow ; hrefen, crab. The Anglo-Saxon 
also aspirated the initial n as in hnecca, neck ; hnut, nut ; 
hnol, knoll. 

§ 16. Alphabetic System. 

Remark. — The elements common to Anglo-Saxon and Modern English are in 
broad-faced type ; those peculiar to Anglo-Saxon are in italics ; those peculiar to 
English are in small capitals. 



1. Vowel System. 

Phthongals, 0, oo, o, A, a, i, i, a, A, fi, fi. 
Aphthongals, li, wli. 



2. Consonant System. 



Phthongal s. 

Aphthongiils. 

Nasals. 



Perfect. 






IMPERFECT. 






Pal- 
atals. 


Lin- 

guals. 


Labi- 
als. 


Pal- 
atals. 


Linguals. 


Labi- 
als. 


Semi-Vowels. 


k 
ng 


d 
t 
» 


b 
P 
m 


kh 


ZH 
SH 


z 
s 


th 

tn 


f 


r 

lir 


\ 
hi 



It is evident from a cursory inspection of this table that 
the elementary sounds of the language may in its progress 
be modified to a limited extent without losing their resjjec- 
tive character essentially, and may also be increased. 

The vowels admit of modifications very readily. They 
are in fact, as has been already stated, formed with slight 
differences in different communities, different families, by 
different individuals even in the same community or fam- 
ily. The length of the vibrated column of air, which, as 



454 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

probably determined at the larynx, seems to give to each 
its peculiar character, may be slightly increased or reduced ; 
and the utterance may be more open or more close, or be 
in other ways and degrees modified by partial occlusions 
of the articulating organs. 

The number of vowel elements to be recognized may 
thus be increased. The slight modifications indicated may 
appear to some sufficiently great to warrant their enumer- 
ation as distinct elements. And more than this, it is sup- 
posable that, in the progress of the language, these modi- 
fications may become so distinct and characteristic, and be 
so universally accepted by those who speak the language, 
that new vowel elements may require to be enumerated in 
an English vowel system. The only limit in the multipli- 
cation of these elements is that of easy discrimination. 
Our language has certainly come nearer to this limit than 
any other European tongue. In one direction, however, an 
increase is open to us ; we may introduce nasal modifica- 
tions of any or of all our vowels, as in the French. It is 
not probable that such an increase would be of any advan- 
tage to the language ; and, happily, there is at present no 
tendency in that direction. 

The consonants may be modified without losing their 
essential character by a firmer or looser contact of the or- 
gans, and also by a stronger or weaker vibration of the 
breath on the occluding organs. The perfect consonants 
might be increased by the introduction of another set of 
Unguals, as in the Sanskrit, since without danger of confu- 
sion the tongue might occlude the breath either by being 
brought against the roof of the mouth or against the teeth, 
and these elements may be more or less modified by the 
part of the roof of the mouth to which the tongue is ap- 
plied. 

The imperfect consonants might be increased by the 
restoration of the Anglo-Saxon palatals gh and kh ; but the 



ENGLISH ORTHOEPY. 455 

fact that they have been dropped seems to indicate that 
they are not desirable elements in our consonant system. 
Such elements as the click which appears in some Afri- 
can dialects, and those that are deteriiiined by variations 
in the pitch of the voice, as in the Chinese, are equally un- 
desirable. 



CHAPTER IV. 

ENGLISH ORTHOGRAPHY. 

§ 17. Orthography is the doctrine of the alphabetic 
elements of a lansruaore as written. 

Orthography presupposes orthoepy, and is founded upon 
it, as written language presupposes spoken language. The 
written elements represent the spoken elements. 

A perfect orthographical system in a language would 
have one written character for each elemental soiuid. All 
orthographical systems probably aimed at this ideal. But 
no language of long duration has such a perfect system. 
Even if the orthography were originally perfect, the changes 
that are ever taking place in language would soon bring in 
anomalies. Such anomalies are, however, for the most part 
from influences that are general, affecting many words 
which thus may be gathered into classes, and arranged 
under principles or laws. The English language is 
notoriously anomalous in its orthography ; but this anoma- 
lous character is after all, to a great extent, susceptible of 
explanation ; and its seeming anomalies are for the most 
part effects of causes that can be indicated, and are hence 
reducible to law. The leading sources of this anomalous 
character in English orthography, whether lying in the de- 
fects of the system itself, or springing from the progress 
and history of the language, it is important for a thorough 
understanding of our literature to indicate and trace dis- 
tinctly. It should be borne in mind that a perpetual source 
of irregularity lies in the fact that while the pronunciation, 
the orthoepy, is ever subject to change, the orthography in 



ENGLISH ORTHOGEAPHY. 457 

a written literature is more constant. Hence it is, for illus- 
tration, that the letter a represents so many sounds. But 
passing with this mere intimation, this general source of 
irregularity, we may mention in addition the following 
special causes of anomalies. 

§ 18. I. Generally no special character is employed to 
distinguish the long from the short quantity of an element. 
In the early Greek language, thus, but one character was 
in use for the e, and one for the o. In the Anglo-Saxon, 
an accent was sometimes used to mark long quantity in a 
vowel ; but the usage was irregular and partial. The Eng- 
lish has rejected this use entirely, but has resorted to divers 
other expedients that have greatly modified the spellings 
of our words. 

1. Long quantity was indicated by inserting another ele- 
ment after the vowel. Sometimes the vowel was repeated, 
as deem, A.-S. dem an ; sweet, A.-S. swet ; door, A.-S. dor; 
floor, A.-S. flor. Compare in old Latin inscriptions, 
paacem, moorem. 

Sometimes another vowel was placed after that which 
was to be indicated as long ; as hoard, A.-S. hord ; hear, 
A.-S. her an ; field, A.-S. fild ; vein, Lat. venum; people, 
Old Eng. peple, and puple. This expedient was common in 
the Anglo-Saxon ; and in the Early English the orthog- 
raphy was very irregular from this cause. Thus we find 
dep, deaf, deop, deep, depe ; gret, great, greet, greot, grete. 

This is the origin of the u, once so common in words in 
on and or, from the Latin through the French, as in honour, 
nacioun (nation), the o being long under the accent ; as 
also in counsel, Lat. consilium ' counter, Lat. contra, as in 
countermand. 

As the adding of an e to a consonant in inflection had 
the effect to make the preceding syllable a pure or open 
syllable, and so to give the vowel its long sound when this 
added e became silent in consequence of the dying out of 
inflections, it still served the purpose of showing that the 



458 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE, 

previous vowel was long, as in mile, A. S. mil; stole, A.-S. 
stol, a garment. 

The consonant letters h and I were sometimes added, as 
oh, ah ; could, once coude, A.-S. cuthe for cund,e, past tense 
of cun nan, to know, to be able. 

2. Short quantity was indicated by doubling the follow- 
ing consonant, as sum mer, A.-S. sumer. The author of the 
" Ormulum " carefully observed this principle, and accord- 
ingly wrote himm, iss, thiss, Engglissh, off, otherr, affterr. 
This principle was but partially adopted ; and hence have 
arisen many anomalies. Most monosyllables ending in f, 
I, or s, only a few ending in other consonants, have re- 
tained this spelling. 

§ 19. 11. Generally at first, phthongal and aphthongal 
elements of the same organic formation are not represented 
by special characters that distinguish them. The Old Latin 
thus had macistratus, leciones for magistratus, legiones. The 
Anglo-Saxon accordingly had but one character to repre- 
sent the/ and the v, and but one to represent the s and 
the z ; while it had distinct characters for the phthongal and 
aphthongal th, a crossed d for the former and a crossed 
t for the latter. The English has introduced the chai'acters 
V and z for the two phthongals first named, and dropping 
the Anglo-Saxon characters has made use of a digraph to 
represent both of the elements — th in thin and th in then. 
So in modern European languages, the s represents both 
the phthongal and the aphthongal, the s in sire, and the z 
in desire. It is left to euphony or to the meaning to de- 
termine which element the character represents in any 
given word. Generally, the aphthongal element is repre- 
sented, except between vowels and after phthongal ele- 
ments in the same syllable. Thus A.-S. heofon, heaven ; 
Afon, Avon ; hifan, above ; beofor, beaver ; ofer, over ; ofen, 
oven ; scafan, shave ; scufan, shove ; wefan, weave ; but 
faran, fare ; fefer, fever ; fiftig, fifty ; haefi, haft ; ryf, rife. 
So also lyysig, busy ; cyse, cheese ; freosan, freeze ; grasian, 



ENGLISH ORTHOGRAPHY. 459 

graze ; nosu, nose ; resian, reason ; risan, to rise ; but mis- 
sian, miss ; 77iist, mist ; six, six ; tusc, tusk ; ivascan, wash » 
westan, waste. But this principle does not apply to all af- 
fixes, as wearisome, noisome. 

This principle accounts for the two following anomalies 
in Modern English : — 

1. Inflections of vernacular words ending in the sound 
of/" when taking an s with a connecting vowel change the 
f into V, as elf, elves ; self, selves ; knife, knives, A.-S. cnif, 
cnifas. 

2. In forming a verb from a noun, the final aphthongal 
element of the noun, if single and following a vowel, is 
changed into its cognate phthongal, because in A.-S., the 
verb was formed by adding an or ian ; as life, live (A.-S. 
lif leofian) ; loath, loathe (A.-S. Ictth, Idthian) ; loss, lose 
(A.-S. los, losiaji). 

This principle also accounts for the seemingly anomalous 
forms In many paronyms ; as give, gift ; thrive, thrift ; frost, 
frozen. 

It accounts, moreover, for the fact that in such inflected 
forms as maid's, sums, tells, the s is phthongal, as also the 
ph in Stephen, and in the provincial English pronunciation 
o^ nephew (nevew). 

"With proper modifications in reference to the law of 
compounds and of accentuation, it explains why we have the 
phthongal element in desire, desist, disdain ; also in exalt, 
exhort, anxiety ; while we have the aphthongal in itisist, ex- 
altation, anxious. 

§ 20. III. Digraphs consisting of two characters already 
in use representing other elements, are resorted to for the 
purpose of helping out a defective orthographic system. 

1. Aspirated elements are indicated by an h placed be- 
fore or after the phthongal of the same organic formation. 
The Anglo-Saxon, like the classical Greek, prefixed the 
sign of aspiration at the beginning of words, as hlaf loaf; 
hnaegan, neigh ; hreof rough ; hwil, while ; hweop, whip. 



460 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

The English, like the Latin and primitive Greek, places it 
after the other character, as while; cf. Lat. rhetor. Old 
Greek also wrote the aspirate after p and k, before the ^ 
(phi) and x (chi) were introduced. 

2. A second class of digraphs are composed of the h 
and a letter representing a contiguous element, as the sh, 
and also, if not belonging to the preceding class, the th,ph 
(= /), and gh. The sh represents a perfectly simple 
sound, not one composed of s and h, as is sometimes ab- 
surdly supposed. It however, in modern English, ordina- 
rily takes the place of the A.-S. sc, as A.-S. scip, ship. 

3. A third class of digraphs are composed of n with 
another element which the n represents as nasalized. The 
only digraph of this class in English is ng, which represents 
the nasal palatal. The French employs the n to nasalize 
its vowels, as an, in, on, un. These, like ng, are simple ele- 
ments, as the organs do not change their position, however 
much the sound is prolonged. 

§ 21. IV. A letter is inserted to mark which of the sev- 
eral sounds represented by another letter, this letter is to 
have in the given word. 

1. U\^ inserted thus after g to show that it is to have its 
palatal, not its lingual sound,' as guest, A.-S. gest ; gnild, 
A.-S. gild; guilt, A.-S. gylt and gilt. Hence the h in ghost, 
ghastly, from A.-S. gast. Here the A is unnecessary, and the 
spelling is a true anomaly. 

2. D is inserted before g, and a final e silent placed after 
it, to show that it has its lingual sound ; as hedge, A.-S. 
hcge ; ridge, A.-S. hricg ; lodge, A.-S. log ian ; drudge, A.- 
S. dreog an. 

3. K is added after c at the end of a syllable to denote 
that the c represents the palatal element, as Uach, A.-S. 
hlaec ; thicken, A.-S. tkic ian ; quicken, A.-S. civic ian. 

§ 22. V. Single characters representing two sounds have 
been introduced. Such characters representing vowel diph- 
thongs generally represented a simple element at first, but 



ENGLISH ORTHOGRAPHY. 461 

while that has changed in the progress of the language, the 
character has remained. Thus the i in pine is diphthongal, 
representing the vowel sounds a in father and i in pin ; o 
frequently represents the diphthong o in note and oo in pool ; 
a also represents the a in fate and i in pit ; u the * in pit 
and 00 in pool, as fume {=fioom) ; true, A.-S. treow and 
triwe ; hrew, A.-S. hreow on and &nw a?z. 

We have also the consonant diphthongs j and x. J. 
comes into the language through the French, where it has 
the sound heard in azure, a sound which has taken the place 
of the consonantized i in pit. The character itself is only a 
tailed i, or an i with a flourish. TlYiVis joy, just, were spelled 
ioy, iust, as late as the time of the version of the Bible 
under King James in 1611 ; and numbers were written with 
a j for the last i, iij, vij, as xij. in Luke viii. 42, WyclifFe's 
Version, a custom still retained in apothecaries' prescrip- 
tions. In English, this character always represents the con- 
sonant diphthong, composed of d and z in azure, which is 
the cognate phthongal of the tsh represented by tch in 
ditch, and ch in change. 

The X comes to us from the Latin and represents the 
phthongal gz as in exalt, and the aphthongal hs in tax, exal- 
tation. See § 19. 

§ 23. VI. The influence of other languages and litera- 
tures has given a seemingly anomalous character to English 
orthography in several respects. 

1. The same elemental sound is represented by different 
characters. The perfect palatal h, thus is represented by e 
before a, o, and u ; by ^ ; by q before the consonantized u 
or w ; by ch in words from the Greek ; and by gh in hough, 
lough. G was the single Anglo-Saxon character to repre- 
sent this element. From the Latin came the k, a duplicate 
representative with c of the same element in that language, 
and the g, the inverted koph of the Hebrew, used before an 
or u. The ch representing the aspirated palatal was in- 
troduced in spelling Greek words. The gh was the Anglo- 



462 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

Saxon phthongal imperfect or fricative palatal, which sound 
has dropped out of our language, as has also its cognate 
aphthongal, the ch as heard in German nocli. But while 
the sound has been lost, the characters which represented 
it remain. Hence we have such apparent anomalous orthog- 
raphies as nigh, dough, through, etc. 

/ and y were both in the A.-S. alphabet. If they origi- 
nally denoted different sounds the distinction was lost ; and 
in the Early English they were interchangeable. In the 
progress of the language, the y was separated for use at the 
beginning and end of words. If a suffix was taken on after 
the y, the i took its place, as merry, merrily. To this rule 
there are exceptions. See " American Speller," 222-228. 

2. The same character representing different sounds in 
different languages has been used to represent each of those 
soimds in words derived respectively from those languages. 
The digraph ch is used to represent both the palatal element 
in words from the Greek, as chyle, chrome, bacchanal, and 
also the lingual in words from the French, as chaise, cha- 
grin, capuchin, as well as the element that has taken the 
place of the initial A.-S. c before e and i in many words, as 
child, A.-S. cild ; cheese, A.-S. cyse. 

§ 24. VII. In order to distinguish words that are pro- 
nounced alike, different spellings have come into use ; thus, 
draft, draught ; cord, chord ; but, butt. Different orthogra- 
phies introduced at first under other principles have been 
continued for this reason. Such words constitute a consid- 
erable part of that class of words called homonyms — words 
pronounced alike but spelled and used differently. 

§ 25. VIII. Typography has modified the orthography 
of the language in two noticeable respects. (1.) From 
defect of type. The y thus was used to represent the ele- 
ment th in the abbreviations y", y* ; the Teutonic participial 
prefix ge, as in yclept ; the palatals g and gh, as year, A.-S. 
ger, as well as the element i in pit. The history of this 
element is a curious one. Its origin is still in dispute- 



ENGLISH ORTHOGRAPHY. 463 

whether it is a modification of the Greek upsilon, or of the 
A.-S. g, or a tailed i ; or whether, as is most probable, its 
use can be fully explained only by supposing that writers or 
jDrinters sometimes adopted one theory of its origin, some- 
times another, and used the character accordingly. The 
printer moreover used the character sometimes simply be- 
cause it was the nearest in form in his font of type to the 
letter in his copy. A z from another font has also been used. 

2. Words were sometimes clipped or mutilated to bring 
the matter within the line. Mr. Marsh notices as instances 
of this, the printing of toward for towards ; also shalbe and 
shall bee in successive lines of the King James' version. In 
2 Tim. ii. 11-13 of this version we find he and we spelled 
thus differently : " For if wee be dead with him, wee shall 
also live with him. If we suffer we shall also reigne with 
him ; if wee denie him, hee also will deny us. If we beleeve 
not, yet hee abideth faithfull, he cannot deny himselfe." 

3. Angular forms were preferred in types, while curved 
forms are preferred in manuscript ; hence the v and the u 
were so much interchanged. 

§ 26. IX. The change from an inflectional to an unin- 
flectional language has given rise to some orthographic 
anomalies. These anomalies appear more frequently in 
the earlier .stages of our literature, and hence an acquain- 
tance with their origin is indispensable to the thorough 
study of ancient English authors. Especially among them 
is to be noticed the silent e at the end of words. This letter 
seems to have been used as a general sign of inflection. It 
was thus used in the Anglo-Saxon as the distinctive ending 
of the first person singular, and also, to a large extent, of 
the third person singular, .in the inflection of verbs ; of the 
genitive case of nouns, also of the dative and accusative 
cases ; and of the plural forms both of nouns and adjec- 
tives. In the Semi-Saxon, the e is very generally substi- 
tuted for a, 0, and u in older forms of those inflections. 
The ti in en, as plural ending and also as sign of indefinite 



464 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

declension, is often dropped, leaving the e at the end of the 
word. As an element foreign to the proper stem, and yet 
used in so many different ways, it naturally came to be used 
generally even at the end of words to which it did not by 
any grammatical principle belong. Having become the 
connecting vowel in inflectionals formed by a suffixed s, n, 
or th, when either of those consonants was dropped, it often 
remained. It gradually disappeared itself as it ceased to 
be sounded in successive classes of words, unless needed to 
mark the quantity of the preceding vowel, but yet was 
retained in many words till so late as the King James 
version, where we find such spellings as dumhe, faithlesse, 
meane, sonne, ngoe, doe, helpe, teares, unheliefe, foule, deafe, 
toohe, all in the course of a few verses in Mark ix. 10-25. 
The silent e at the end of a word is to be accounted for, 
therefore, on the one or the other of these two principles : 
(1) its use as an orthographical expedient to denote the long 
quantity of a preceding vowel ; (2) its actual or supposed 
inflectional use. 

§ 27. The table on the following page exhibits the alpha- 
betic elements of the English language in the order in 
which they are formed in the mouth, with the different 
characters by which they are i*epresented in written speech. 



ENGLISH ORTHOGRAPHY. 



465 



ENGLISH ALPHABETIC SYSTEM — ORTHOEPIC AND ORTHOGRAPHIC. 



Vowels. 


Partial Consonants. 


Perfect Consonants. 


Phthongal. 


Aphthongal. 


Phthongal. 


Aphthongal. 


Phthongal. 


Aphthongal. 


Nasal. 


u-p by u, 

ou, 0, oe, 
00, e, ea, i, 

y- 


h-at 






g-o by g, 
gli, gu, X 

(=gz). 


Ic-eyby k,c, 
ck, ch, gh, 
kh, cu, q, 
q,u. 


si-ng 

by ng, 
n. 


oo-ze by 

00, 0, eo, 
ow, u, w, 
eu, ew. 


wh-y 












o-ld by 0, 
oa, 08, 00, 
ou, ow,au, 
eau, eo,ew. 














a-11 by a, 
ao, au, aw, 
0, oa, ou. 














a-rt by a, 
ah, au, ea. 














i-re by i, 
ai, ei, oi, y, 
ey, ui, uy. 




r-an 










1-n by i, 
ie, el, oi, e, 
eau,o,u,y. 




1-and 










a-n by a, 

ai, ea, e, ei. 




a-z-ure by 
z, s, j. 


sli-un by sh , 
.sch,ch,s,c,t. 








a-le by a, 
ai, ao, au, 
ay,e, ea,ei, 

ey. 




z-one by z, 

C,S, X. 


s-unbys,sc, 
c, z. 








e-11 by 8, 
ea,ei,a, ae, 
aijie, oe,u. 




tli-ea by 
th. 


tU-in by th. 


d-in by d. 


t-in by t- 


n-or 
by n. 


e-ve by e, 
ea, ee, ei, 
eo,ey, i, ie. 


















v-ile by v, 
b, ph. 


f-inby f, ph, 
gh- 


b-in by b, 
P- 


p-ia by p, 


m-an 

bym. 



CHAPTER V. 

SYLLABICATION. 

§ 28. A Syllable is a word-element consisting of one 
or more alphabetic elements uttered in one uninterrupted 
concrete movement of the voice. 

There are several things entering into this definition that 
deserve particular attention. First, a syllable in distinction 
from a letter is a proximate, as the latter is an ultimate ele- 
ment of a word. Next, while a single letter may form a syl- 
lable, there necessarily enters into a syllable a movement 
in pitch, a concrete vocal movement, a slide up or down, or 
both, on the musical scale, which must be ever through a 
determinate musical interval. In order that this may be, 
every syllable must contain at least one phthongal element ; 
and if there be more than one, they must not be separated 
by an aphthongal element. Thus, while either I or n may 
form a syllable by itself, as in oven, Jichle, in which the e is 
silent, such a combination as liked in one sj'llable is impos- 
sible, for the aphthongal h being without voice, interrupts 
the concrete movement from the i to the d, and Ave of neces- 
sity pronounce the word, if in one syllable, as if spelled Ukt. 
Moreover, in a syllable consisting of more than one alpha- 
betic element, the concrete movement must be maintained 
from one element to the next ; consequently there is a tran- 
sition-utterance of voice that is not represented by any 
letter, and is determined in its character by the two ele- 
ments which it connects, varying ever as they vary. In 
the syllable had, thus, there is a sound given forth while 
the articulating organs are passing from the h to the a, and 



SYLLABICATION. 467 

also while they are passing from the a to the d, sounds which 
are not at all the proper sounds represented by either of 
those letters, This transition element greatly modifies the 
sound of the syllable. In some syllables, as in pit, it con- 
stitutes the great body of sound heard in the pronunciation 
of the syllable. 

We have then, as an essential function of the syllable, a 
concrete movement of the voice conducted along from one 
alphabetic articulation to another, through this transition 
sound that is emitted while the organs are changing their 
position. 

A syllable accordingly is, 1, a proximate word-element ; 
2, a single uninterrupted utterance ; 3, and ever a concrete 
movement of the voice through a determinate musical in- 
terval. 

§ 29. Syllabication, or the separation of words into sylla- 
bles, is of three different kinds as it is made for one or 
another of three different uses : — 

1. Orthoepic, to show the pronunciation of words ; 

2. Etymological, to show the dei'ivation of words ; and 

3. Orthographic, to show the proper writing or printing 
of words. 

These different uses lead to different ways of dividing 
the same word. Thus the orthoepic division of photog- 
raphy is pho tog ra phy ; the etymological, pho to graph y ; 
the orthographic, pho tog ra phy. 

§ 30. In the formation of syllables or in orthoepic syllab- 
ication, the following principles govern : — 

1. Every syllable must contain at least one phthongal 
element. In' English, this must be a vowel, or one of the 
semi-vowels, r, I, n, m. 

2. In polyliteral syllables, euphony requires that the more 
occluded elements be placed farthest from the vowel or least 
occluded element, whether they stand before or after the 
vowel, as hland, grange, twanged. The nasal elements are, 
under this principle, relatively to other consonants more 
unoccluded. 



468 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

3. No aphthongal element can stand between phthongals 
in the same syllable. Hence flushed, passed, fenced, if 
sounded as single syllables, are pronounced flusht, past, 
fenst. 

§ 31. Etymological syllabication separates the word into 
the original stem and the several affixes and prefixes 
through inflection, derivation, or composition. 

§ 32. Orthographic syllabication is governed by the fol- 
lowing principles : — 

1. Digraphs should not be separated, as' reck on, ge o- 
graph i cat, spath ic. 

2. Consonants preceding I and r should not be sepa- 
rated from those letters, as a crid i ty, except after an ac- 
cented vowel having its short sound, as ac rid. 

3. A single consonant between two vowels is joined to the 
second, as hro hen,fi nal. But if the first vowel, having its 
short sound, be accented, it takes the consonant, as ban ish, 
cor rel a tive ; and e and short u take r even if not ac- 
cented, as gen er ous, gut tur al. 

4. If two or more consonants come between two vowels, 
the first consonant is joined with the preceding vowel, the 
others with the following vowel, as hos tage, tein pest. 

5. In proper English derivations, stems and formative 
parts stand by themselves, as also do simples in composite 
words ; as a mus ing, de vat ing, spell ing, lord ly, wasp ish ; 
plant louse. 

Remark. — In America, this principle does not extend 
beyond proper English formations ; and accordingly we 
write de lud ing, but de lu sive ; de vot ing, but vo tive. In 
Great Britain, it is extended to words of foreign extraction, 
especially those of Latin origin, as in con sist ent. So also 
there, the rule given above for words having a single conso- 
nant between two vowels is allowed universal prevalence 
without the exceptions given ; as in cor re la tive, gen e rous. 



CHAPTER VI. 

ACCENTUATION. 

§ 33. Accent is a distinctive stress of voice on a syllable 
in pronunciation. 

As distinctive it properly belongs only to words of more 
than one syllable ; but monosyllabic words may take accent 
when uttered in connection with other words, as in poetic 
rhythm. 

It serves to gather up into one the syllables that compose 
a word, and is, accordingly, regarded as the peculiar life- 
element of a word, distinguishing it from a syllable or suc- 
cession of syllables. 

It varies in intensity in different languages, in different 
uses in the same language, in different pronunciations of 
the same word. In the French language, accent is gener- 
ally weak, that is, the distinctive stress on the different syl- 
lables is very slight ; in English, as in the Teutonic lan- 
guages generally, it is comparatively strong. There are 
also provincial variations in the English language. And 
particularly is it true that often the same word by different 
speakers and in different communities has a different inten- 
sity of accentual stress. Thus brimstone is by some speakers 
pronounced with but slight distinction of stress on the two 
syllables ; while by others it is pronounced as if written 
hrim' stun with as strong accentual distinction as is given to 
brim mer. 

Words of more than two syllables often take a secondary 
accent, as ac cen' tu a" tion. 



470 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

The accent often serves to distinguish words otherwise 
pronounced alike ; as au^ gust, au gust' ; in' vol id, in vaV id ; 
re' pent (creeping), repent' ; prec' e dent, pre ce' dent. 

§ 34, English accentuation is anomalous chiefly from the 
diverse origin of our vocabulary. The following are its 
governing principles : — 

1. Monosyllables take accent only when used in connec- 
tion with other words ; and articles, personal and relative 
pronouns, adverbs of time and place, conjunctions, preposi- 
tions, and auxiliary words, if monosyllables, remain unac- 
cented in connection with other words, unless under em- 
phasis. 

2. Dissyllables take the accent, except some prepositions, 
as open, into, etc. ; also therefore, ever, and some other dis- 
syllabic particles. Some dissyllables seem to take a double 
accent ; as convoy, amen, farewell, etc. 

3. Words of more than two syllables may take one or 
more secondary accents ; as su' per a bun" dant ; trans' suh- 
stan ti a" tion. 

4. Words of Anglo-Saxon origin take the accent on the 
root-syllable ; as seed' ling, oat' en. 

5. Words of foreign origin when first introduced gener- 
ally follow the analogy of the language from which they 
come ; as they become anglicized, they tend to conform to 
the general principle of English accentuation, which is to 
accent the root-syllable. So far as the root of a word can 
be distinguished by the merely English mind, it generally 
takes the accent. When this is not the case, the first syl- 
lable, even although a prefix, takes the accent, as the root- 
syllable generally precedes in English words ; as suf fix, syV- 
la hie. 

In illustration of this principle, words from the French, 
like color, nature, etc., were originally accented on the last 
syllable, as are still finance', detail', coquette', coupee', etc. 
Some of these words are fluctuating, being diversely ac- 
cented by good speakers ; as sa' line and sa line' ; pro' lix, 
pro lix' ; cui' rass and cui rass' ; de' pot and de pot'. 



ACCENTUATION. 471 

6. Many words, spelled alike, are accented on a prior syl- 
lable if used as nouns or adjectives, and on the last syllable 
if used as verbs ; as ad cent, but to ac cent' ; aV struct, but 
to ab stract' ; in' ter diet, but to in ter diet'. So convoy, 
converse, impress, discount, alternate, conjugate, overstocky 
countermand, and a hundred others. 



CHAPTER VII. 

DERIVATION. 

§ 35. Under derivation is to be comprehended every 
mode of word-formation out of existing stems. Proper 
stem-words, which cannot now be traced back to their 
origin, are comparatively few in any language ; they num- 
ber but a few hundred in the English vocabulary. Many 
other words in our language are recognized as derivatives, 
but their derivation linguistic science is as yet unable to 
explain satisfactorily. Still farther, in many cases, it is 
difficult to tell which of several paronyms is the primitive. 
Of the great mass of English words, however, it is now 
possible to distinguish the stem-element, and the particular 
formative elements which are incorporated with it in the 
word. Readiness to distinguish these elements and their 
respective effect in modifying the significance of the stem 
is indispensable to the highest and truest satisfaction in the 
study of our literature, as it is to the freest and most skill- 
ful use of the language in the construction of discourse. 

The regulative principle which underlies and governs all 
word-formation, it should ever be borne in mind, is the es- 
sential principle of all thought, — the principle of identity, 
or, as it may be more fully and significantly denominated, 
the principle of the same and different. The stem is given 
as that from which the formation starts, and the proper sig- 
nificance of which, to a greater or less extent, remains the 
same in the derivative ; and the formative element applied 
to it simply expresses the different, the modified significance, 
imparted to the primitive. It may be that in remote deri- 



DERIVATION. 473 

vations, the stem-element may come to lose all its original 
significance ; or on the other hand, the alphabetic charac- 
tei's which composed the stem at the start may have been, 
in the progress of the successive transformations, replaced 
by other elements. Shire, a county, and skirt, a garment, 
have little resemblance, little identity in form or meaning ; 
yet they are easily traceable to the same origin. Through 
and door have but little in common, although etymologically 
the same ; and brandy retains little of its primitives. When 
the identity is one of relation, it may be that only the known 
history of the derivation can explain the origin ; as, for 
instance, in the case of grog, from Admiral Vernon, famil- 
iarly named by his sailors, to whom he distributed rations 
in liquor, from the grogram dress which he customarily 
wore. While many derivations may thus be obscure and 
uncertain, the greater part of derivative words have been 
introduced under general- laws or principles. These may 
be scientifically expounded with interest and profit to the 
student of our literature. It will be convenient to notice 
in order the several specific modes of word-derivation, 
namely : I. By composition ; II. By affixes ; III. By internal 
change ; IV. By change of use. The first three modes 
mentioned are by change in the form of the word itself, in 
the orthography ; the last is by change in the grammatical 
use of the word. 

In tracing back the history of words the student is at 
once prompted to inquire after their form and use in kindred 
dialects. Although neither the proper design of this work 
nor the present stage of linguistic investigation will allow 
the most thorough and scientific treatment of these etymo- 
logical affinities, yet there is one class of these affinities em- 
braced under what is known as Ghnmm's Law, which should 
not be overlooked. This Law, named from its author, em- 
braces a large number of most remarkable correspondences 
between the English, the High German, and the classical 
dialects, so large as to warrant the expectation that a 



474 



ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 



word of this class being given in one of these dialects, the 
corresponding word, if found in either of the others, will in 
the stem-portion differ from it in a certain definite way. 
Thus, for illustration, if the English word have a b,a d, or 
a ff, the German will have respectively a p, a t, or a. k, and 
the Greek and Latin an/, a th, or a ck or A. If the Eng- 
lish have a p, a t, or a k, the German will have an/ a th, or 
a ch or h, and the Greek and Latin a 5, a c?, or a g. And 
if the English have an/, a th,or a ch or h, the German will 
have ab,ad, or a g, and the Greek and Latin a jo, a ^, or a 
k. This remarkable law of dialectic substitution extends to 
the whole Indo-European family. The Sanskrit, Greek, 
Latin, Lithuanian, Slavonic, and Celtic agreeing in having 
the same letter in these words constitute one class ; the High 
German dialects constitute a second class ; and the Gothic 
and Low German, including the Anglo-Saxon, Frisian, etc., 
the third class. The law of substitution has many excep- 
tions. It is less observed in medial and final consonants 
than in initial. It applies only to the perfect palatal and 
lingual consonants, and the cognate imperfect consonants 
or fricatives. Moreover, of the imperfect consonants or 
fricatives, sometimes the phthongal, sometimes the aph- 
thongal is taken, and z and s sometimes take the place of 
zh and sh ; and simple h appears sometimes, where, by the 
law, we should expect a palatal aphthongal. The law, as 
applied to the English, the Greek and Latin, and the Ger- 
man dialects, may be thus tabulated : — 

GRIMM'S LAW TABULATED. 



English . . . 


P 


t 


k 


b 


d 


g 


f 


th 


h 


Classical . . 


b 


d 


S 


f 


ch 


th 


P 


t 


k 


German . . . 


f 


th, z 


ch 


P 


t 


fe 


b 


d 


S 



To illustrate the application of the law and the use of 
the table, if we have the English word heart, for the cor- 



DERIVATION. 475 

responding stem in Latin we look for a h (c) instead of the 
h, and for a d instead of the t, and find accordingly the 
Latin stem cord is ; in German we find hertz. So for the 
Latin stem ped-, Greek ttoS-, we have in English foot, in 
German, fuss. 

§ 36. I. The most ready and natural way to communi- 
cate a modified thought through a new word is by composi- 
tion ; by compounding or combining together two words 
already in use, as steam-boat. Here we have the principal 
stem-word boat modified in its import by the word steam 
united with it. At first, both the simple words would 
retain their accent ; then the accent would be dropped from 
one, and the words, before two separate words, become one 
(§ 33) ; and finally, one or the other or both of the primi- 
tive elements become, in the progress of speech, shortened 
or otherwise changed, and in this change fall under laws of 
euphony or other principles, and so finally appear in forms 
that can hardly be identified with the primitive words. 
Hussy and sheriff are scarcely recognizable, from the mere 
forms of the words, as compounds respectively of house and 
wife, and shire and reeve. 

§ 37. IL Word-formation by affixes to stems enters very 
largely into the vocabulary of every cultivated dialect. 
When affixes are placed before their stems they are called 
prefixes; when after, suffixes. They are moreover often 
placed in the middle of stems, in which case they might be 
called infixes. 

Affixes in the English language have come from divers 
sources. Besides those that are properly vernacular and 
chiefly from the Anglo-Saxon, we have a considerably larger 
number from the Latin directly or indirectly through the 
French, and also a large number from the Greek. 

As words originally Latin have come freely into our 
vocabulary, both immediately from the Latin and also 
mediately through the French, we have a proHfic source of 
doubtful orthographies. Thus, the Latin preposition in or 



476 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

im is in the French form en or em. Compounds with this 
prefix from the Latin are spelled in both ways, as enclose 
and inclose, ensure and insure, empale and impale. If the 
word be recognized as rather of P^rench descent, it takes en 
or em ; if rather of immediate Latin origin, in or im. Thus, 
words earlier introduced take en or em ; also those that have 
more or less changed their stems and conformed them to 
French analogies ; and still farther those that have de- 
parted from the Latin sense. This principle is applicable 
to other words. It is, however, not invariably observed, 
and we have many anomalies in consequence. It is rea- 
sonably to be expected that these will gradually be dimin- 
ished in the progress of the language. 

To the one or the other of these three classes belong all 
proper formative affixes. The Greek, and also the Latin 
and French affixes have become naturalized, and are 
freely applied to vernacular stems. Those from other lan- 
guages have come into the English already combined with 
their stems in words actually formed, and are not therefore 
to be recognized as having a living formative force in our 
language. We have thus a number of woids from the 
Arabic with the definite article prefix al or el, as al cove, 
algebra, apticot, admiral, elixir. "We have in like man- 
ner many words directly or indirectly from the Italian, 
with augmentative and diminutive suffixes, as buffoon, 
tromb one ; sonnet, stiletto, violin. 

Further, in respect of their proper function, affixes are 
either (1) significant, modifying the meaning of the word ; 
or (2) orthoepic or euphonic, modifying its sound ; or (3) 
orthographic, pertaining simply to its written form. Of 
significant affixes, however, it is often true that they come 
to lose their original modifying form, and thus the deriva- 
tive has only the meaning of the primitive stem word. Cf. 
alight and light ; bedim and dim ; helmet, helm ; mountain, 
mount; unloose (for on loose), loose; unto (onto), to. In 
many cases the derivative has taken the place of the prim- 



DERIVATION. 477 

itive, which has thus become obsolete, as not {naught, A.-S. 
ne aught), hegin {begin), abide, endure, mountain, yonder. 

§ 38. Orthoepic or euphonic affixes occur at the begin- 
ning, at the end, and in the middle of words. Thus in 
esquire, Lat. scutiger ; escutcheon, Lat. scutum, the initial e 
is simply euphonic. 

In number, 'La.t. numerus, and slumber, A.-S. slumer ian, 
the b is euphonic ; as (f in androus, (cf. Gr. avhp6<i), yon der^ 
hind er. The insertion of the pure phthongal b, d, is invited 
by the more flowing utterance. 

In limb, A.-S. Km, crump (cf. Ger. krumm), the final b and 
p are euphonic, although in limb the b has become silent in 
the progress of the language. Inasmuch as by the addition 
of the letter the word is strengthened, the affix may in 
such cases properly be regarded as significant and inten- 
sive. In the adverbs against, amongst, betwixt, midst, whilst, 
and the obsolete oncet, all of which were Anglo-Saxon 
genitives in -es, the final t is properly euphonic, serving to 
cut off the sibilant that precedes. 

To these euphonic affixes should be added the vowels in- 
serted in the derivation of words by addition of consonants, 
in this use called connectives. Thus when the proper sign 
of the plural s was affixed to the stem in Anglo-Saxon, it 
took, if euphony required, a connecting vowel, as smith, 
\A\x. smithas ; staef, T^\n. stafas. So generally in inflection 
of nouns and of verbs, and comparison of adjectives, this 
connecting vowel is inserted. Generally e is now taken ; 
but in the early stages of the language it seemed almost a 
matter of the merest caprice. Thus in Wycliffe we find 
thingis, wordis, eris (ears), and so7ies, dayes, and in close 
connection both iewis and iewes ; prechid,Jillid, and turned ; 
resceyved, nighed, makith, and bihoveth ; tahun, chosun ; fadir, 
modir ; crier, loatir. In different writers and in different 
parts of the country we find still greater diversity, the con- 
necting vowel of the plural being either a, e, i, o, u, or y, 
and a similar diversity in the other inflectional affixes. 



478 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

Before r the selection of the connecting vowel was espe- 
cially capricious, as we find -er, -^V, -ur, and -yr affixed to 
the same stem. 

§ 39. The orthographic affixes are those already spoken 
of in the chapter on English orthography. They include 
the vowel and consonant digraphs, and the final e silent. 
See Chapter VI., §§ 18, 20. 

§ 40. The significant affixes either modify the thought 
itself expressed or implied in the stem, or the matter of 
thought. 

The proper thought affixes are the negatives and the 
repetitives or frequentatives. The negatives change the 
affirmation of the stem into its coordinate and complement 
negation. They are expressed by the consonant n variously 
combined, as euphony or intensity or some comparison may 
require. The repetitives or frequentatives imply a repeti- 
tion of the thought ; they express the thought of the stem 
repeated. The proper vocal expression of these affixes is 
by the consonant t variously combined and assimilated into 
its cognates. 

§ 41. Affixes modifying the matter of thought modify 
the stem either concretely or abstractly. 

1. Concrete affixes are in the form of suffixes. They 
either signify (1) an agent or doer, an individual subject 
of a predication ; or (2) a class or kind ; or (3) a mass or 
group. They are further subdivided as they are used to 
distinguish sex or as diminutives. 

2. Abstract affixes modify the stem either in respect of 
quantity, of property, or of relation. 

{a.) The quantity affixes include the privatives and the 
intensives, which respect more the object expressed by the 
stem as a thought object — the subjective side of the stem ; 
and the diminutives and augmentatives, which respect more 
the objective side of the stem — the object in itself, and 
not as thought. 

The quantity affixes and the proper thought affixes are 



DERIVATION. 479 

intei'changeable, so that the same affix may be used as a 
negative, a privative, or a diminutive on the one hand, or 
as a repetitive, an intensive, or an augmentative on the 
other. In the enumeration given below, they will be pre- 
sented in the two classes of 1, Privatives ; and 2, Inten- 
sives. 

Some of the proper intensive affixes are used to form 
verbs from adjectives or nouns, which signify to impart the 
attribute denoted by the adjective, noun, or verb ; as be dim, 
to black en, to impart the quality of dimness or blackness ; 
so be cloud, strength en, be spatter, burn ish. The insertion of 
a vowel element or lengthening it subserves the same pur- 
pose. 

(b.) The property affixes in the form *of prefixes may be 
regarded in the light of simples compounded with stems, 
as mis- in misfortune ; mal- in maltreat ; dys- in dyspepsy ; 
eu; ev-, in eulogy, evangelist. Here belong alio-, as in allo- 
pathy ; hetero-, as in heterodoxy ; hi-, bis-, as in bisect, bis- 
cuit ; demi-, semi-, hemi-, as in demigod, semi-weekly, hemi- 
sphere ; holo; solo- (sol-), mono-, uni-, as in holocaust, soli- 
tude, monogram, universe; multi-, poly-, as in multiform, 
polyglot; omni-, pas- (pan-), a,s in omnivorous, panorama ; 
equi- in equidistant; primo- {prim-), pjroto-, as in pri- 
mordial, protogenitor. These affixes, which are mostly of 
classical origin, it is obvious, may be multiplied indefi.- 
nitely. 

Property suffixes are very numerous. The English lan- 
guage has not only those of its own — its vernacular 
suffixes, but has naturalized freely from the Latin and 
French, and also from the Greek. 

(c.) The relation affixes appear either in the form of 
prefixes which are originally prepositions, or of suffixes. 

There belongs to the last two classes of affixes, those 
of property and those of relation, partly to the one, partly 
to the other, a very peculiar kind of affixes used in inflec- 
tions and other forms of derivation, called in a stricter 



480 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE.' 

sense, formatives. They have a significance, but it is a 
significance purely conventional, or at least at this stage 
of progi'ess in language inexplicable. They are either 
grammatical or merely discriminative. 

§ 42. Grammatical affixes, which are for the most part 
suffixes, express a modification of the stem in respect to 
some grammatical property or relation, as of number, of 
tense, or the like. They consist of single letters, or of 
several letters, and are joined to stems with or without 
connecting vowels. Most of them are Unguals, as d, t, th, 
s, st, n, nd, nt. Besides these are the labial m, the guttural 
ng, and the semi-vowel r. 

D and t are formative of the past participle, as in loved, 
fast. Hence are derived nouns denoting results of ac- 
tion, effiscts, products, as deed, that which is done ; sound, 
Lat. sonat um, the result of the act expressed by the verb 
son are, to sound ; head, A.-S. heaf od, that which is heaved 
or placed on high ; deceit, Lat. deceptum, the result of de- 
ceiving ; weight, the result of weighing. 

T is also formative of neuters ; as it, that, what. Cf. Lat. 
id, illud, quod. 

Th was once the usual formative of the 3 pers. sing, 
pres. indicative of verbs ; but has now, except in solemn 
archaic diction, passed into its cognate s. It was once also 
formative of the plural, but this use was early abandoned. 
It is also formative of abstract nouns signifying the prop- 
erty, which, in the stem, is expressed as a verb or an adjec- 
tive ; as growth, from grow ; truth, from trow ; death, from 
die ; breadth, from broad ; width, from wide. When the 
stem ends in a guttural, it generally takes t instead of th, 
the proper difference in the significance of these affixes 
being this : that the t or d expresses the completed act, 
th the continuing action. Thus we have draught, a draw- 
ing, instead of draughth ; flight, a flying ; drought from dry, 
A.-S. drih and dri ; height or hight, from high, A.-S. heah 
and hih. 



DERIVATION. 481 

S is formative of the third person singular of verbs in 
Modern English ; also of the plural and the genitive sin- 
gular of nouns. It also formed the genitive singular of 
adjectives when they vs^ere inflected. Hence w^e have 
many prepositions, adverbs, and conjunctions, which were 
originally genitives of nouns or adjectives ; as imvards, 
towards ; besides ; sometimes ; whiles, whilst ; anights, obso- 
lete ; hereabouts; always; else (elles) ; once (ones), twice, 
thrice, hence, thence, whence ; since (A.-S. siihens). 

St is formative of superlatives, as great est, most, first, next. 

N is formative of old plurals in nouns, as ox en, children, 
hine, A.-S. cyn, dat. plu. of cu, a cow; and verbs usually 
by Wycliflfe ; also of the A.-S. infinitive, which remains in a 
few words, as dawn, A.-S. dagian ; own, A.-S. agan ; listen, 
A.-S. hlistan ; also of past participle, as taken, torn, done, 
been ; hence of nouns, as heav en, that which is heaved, or 
placed on high ; leaven, A.-S. lefan, to raise ; corn, grain, 
from stem cr- or gr-. 

Nd, like Lat. nt, was formative of present participle and 
hence of nouns, as fi.end, friend. It early passed into 7ig. 

M is formative of object case, as Mm, them ; also, as in 
Gr. and Lat., of nouns signifying result of action, as bloom, 
the result of blowing or blossoming ; sham, seam. 

Ng is formative of present participle, taking the place 
of the earlier nd, and hence of nouns, denoting action, as 
hearing, swing. 

R is formative of the genitive or possessive case, as our, 
your, her, their ; of pronominal adverbs, as hither, thither, 
whither ; of the comparative, as great er, more, after ; of 
nouns signifying agents, as reap er. 

§ 43. Discriminative affixes simply serve to distinguish 
one modification of a given thought from another. They 
have no traceable significance in themselves. We have 
thus the three words click, clack, clack, as also clap, clat, 
clatter, clang, and others, distinguishable modifications of the 
thought expressed by the stem cl, call, Greek koK e'w ; A.-S. 
31 



482 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

clep an, chop ian, clyp ian ; Danish, leal de, to call. Why 
any one of these modifications should be designated as it 
is to distinguish it from the others, it is impossible to deter- 
mine with any certainty. So we have hand and hond from 
a verb, perhaps directly from to hind; but, perhaps, like 
that, from a more simple primitive stem. They have 
distinguishable meanings ; why one meaning should be in- 
dicated in one way, and the other in another way, no satis- 
factory explanation can be given. We can in many cases 
only fall back on the governing principle in all word-forma- 
tion, in all construction of language, — the principle which 
is the essential principle of all thought, of which language 
is but the embodiment, — the principle of the same and 
different. The same in the thought is expressed in the 
common stem elements ; the different in the thought is ex- 
pressed by some different element in the new word-forms. 
§ 44. The prefixes in English are : — 

1. Privatives. (a.) Vernacular, ii, no, not ; un; as 
n ever, no lody. 

(h.) Latin or French, in, I, il, ini, ir, as in correct, igno- 
rant, il literate, im modest, ir resolute ; n, ne, non, as n ullity, 
ne uter, non plus. 

(c.) Greek, a, an, as a theisf, an odyne. 

2. Intensives, a,, e, y, for o'e, as a like, e nough, obs. 
y wiss ; a for A.-S. jorep. an, as alight ; be, as he dim; eu, 
as en dear, en lighten ; for, as forlorn. 

Almost any consonant affixed, whether at the beginning, 
at the end, or in the middle of verbs, as also almost any 
relative prefix, any preposition, may be used simply as an 
intensive. 

The participial prefix ge, afterwards written y, has be- 
come obsolete. 

3. Relatives, {a.) Vernacular, a for an, as a sleep (on 
sleep) ; be, hy, as he sides, hy stander ; ein, en, as em. mew, 
en girdle ; for, forc, as for give, fore go ; fore tell, for ward ; 
g'ain, against, as gain say ; off, as offshoot ; on, as 07i set ; 



DERIVATION. 483 

out, as out hurst, oiitbid; to, as tomorrow ; uil for an or 
Oil, as un loose, un to ; under, as under lie ; up, as up root , 
with, as with draio, with in. 

(b) Latin or French, ad, a, ac, af, a^, al, am, an, ap, 

ar, as, at, to, as ad vei^se, a sperse, ac cede ; ab, abs, a, 
from, as abhor, abstain, avert; ambi, amb, about, as 
ambient; ante, ant, before, as antediluvian; circUHl, 
Circu, around, as circumference, circu it ; CIS, on this side 
of, as cis montane; con, CO, COg', col, COM, COr, COllll, 
with, as confer, co temporary, cognate, collate, compress, 
correspond, countenance; COntra, COUtl'O, Counter, 
against, as contradict, controvert, countermand; dc, 
down, from, as depose, deflect; dis, di, dlf, de, apart, as 
disjoin, divide, diffuse,' delay (Lat. di latum); en, see 
in ; ex, e, ec, ef, out, from, as ex tract, e hide, ec centric, 
efface; extra, beyond, as extravagant; in, il, im, ir ; 
en, em, indi, ind, in, within, on, into, as in fer, illu- 
sion, im merse, ir radiate, enforce, em ploy, indi genous, 
indigent ; infra, beneath, as infra orbital; inter, intra, in- 
tro, enter, between, within, as interpose, intra tropical, in- 
trovert, enterprise; juxta, near, as juxtaposition; ob, 
ObS, OC, of, op, OS, against, as ob vious, oc casion, offer, 
op press, OS tensive ; per, through, as perforate ; post, after, 
as post pone ; pre, prse, before, as pre cede, prce nomen ; 
praeter, past, beyond, as prceter natural ; prO, pur, be- 
fore, for, as pro ceed, pro noun, purpose ; re, red, back, 
again, down, as re cede, re peat, re duce, red ound ; retro, 
hackivards, as retro spect ; se, apart, as se cede ; sine, sailS, 
without, as sinecure, sansculotte; SUC, SUf, SUg", Slini, 
sup, sub, under, as sub marine, sue ceed, suffix, sug gest, 
summon, suppress; SUbter, under, as subterfuge; super, 
supra, SUr, over, as super sede, supra costal, sur vive ; trails, 
trail, tra, beyond, over, as transfer, tran scend, tra duce ; 
ultra, Ult, Ulter, OUtr, beyond, as idtra ist, ulter ior, 
outr age. 

(c.) Greek, apo, apb, from, as apo gee, aphe lion ; amplli, 



484 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

about, as amphi theatre ; aiia, an, hach, up, again, as an aly- 
sis ; ailti, a lit, ^lltXl, against, as antidote, antacid, anthel- 
mintic ; cata, cat, catll, down, as cata logue, cat optric, 
cathedral; <lia, (lea, de, through, as diameter, deacon 
(6taKOT/os), devil (Std/BoXos) ; en, 6111, in, as engrave, emblem ; 
endo, eilto, within, endo carp, ento zoa ; epi, Cp, epli, 
on, as epitaph, ep enthesis, ephemeral; ex, t^., from, as 
ex. orcise, ec logue ; hyper, beyond, as hyper borean ; liypo, 
under, as hypothesis; is, into, as is agogic ; ill eta, niCtll, 
with, beyond, as 7neta phor, meth od ; para, par, pa, beside, 
as paraphrase, par ody, p alsy {paralysis) ; peri, around, 
as periphery ; proS, to, as pros ody ; syil, sy, Syl, sym, 
with, as sy)^ cope, sy stem, syl lable, sym metry. 
§ 45. The suffixes in English are : — • 

1. Concretes. 1. Agent, (a.) .Vernacular, r, ar, er, or, 
Ster, as boo r, li ar, build er, sail or, pun ster. 

(b.) Latin or French, an, eail, ian, ilie, as public an, 
guardian, Jacob ine; ailt, eilt, as I'uininant, resident; 
or, er, eer, as orator, chanter, volunteer; ary, as adver- 
sary ; at, ate, as la^ire at, advoc ate ; ec, object of an action, 
as refer ec. 

(c.) Greek, ic, iac, iciau, as crit ic, man iac, log ician. 

2. Of Sex. («.) Vernacular, eu, as vixen; esS, as 
host ess. 

(b.) Latin and French, ine, as hero ine ; ix, as testatr ix. 

3. Diminutives, (a.) Vernacular, et, let, as cask et ; 
eyelet; kin, as lambkin; ling', as gosling; ocli, as 
hill ocli. 

(b.) Latin and French, cle, CUle, llle, as canticle, ver- 
mi cule, glob ide. 

4. Of 3fass and Ch-oup, Lat. age, as foli age ; ry, as 
cavalry. 

IL Abstracts. 1. Of Action (a.) Vernacular, til, t, 
aS' growth, gift ; illg', as dealing. 

(b.) Latin and French, sion, tioil, as mis sion, ora tion ; 
Ure, ture, as tons tore, cap ture. 



. DERIVATION. 485 

(c.) Greek, is, as synthe sis. 

2. Of Quality. (a.) Vernacular, head, IlOOd, as 
Godhead, falsehood; ncss, as feebleness. 

(h.) Latin and French, cy, ty, as clemen cy, hones ty. 
(c.) Greek, ism, as patriot ism ; cy, Sy, ty, as idio cy, 
fantasy, polity. 

3. Of Condition, (a.) Vernacular, dom, as thraldom; 
ship, as son ship. 

(b.) Latin and French, ag'e, as vici7i age ; ance, ence, 
properly, condition of acting, as govern ance, refulg ence ; 
aiicy, ency, as arrog ancy, transluc ency ; llieut, the eifect 
of action, the condition of what is effected, as ornament, 
amendment ; esCCllCC, condition of becoming, as adoles- 
cence. 

4. Of Relation, {a.) Vernacular, iug, SOU, hum, as 
Brown ing, son of Brown ; John son ; Black burn. 

(b.) French and Latin, ary, Ol'y, place for, as avi ary, 
dormit ory. 

TIL Adjectives, (a.) Vernacular, eil, as golden; ch, 
like (A.-S. ylc), as su ch ; er, 01*, comparatives ; em, as 
east em ; esC, as Chin ese ; esqiie, pictur esque ; est, st, 
superlatives; fill, as mirth fid; ing, as charming; y, as 
glassy; ish, as xohitish; leSS, as careless; ly, like, from 
A.-S. ylc, as friendly; SOllie, as frolicsome; ward, as 
home ward. 

(b.) Latin and French, hie, ahle, ible, as able, ser- 
viceable, sensible; ic, as public; fic, iis pad fc ; ceous, 
Cious, tious, as creta ceous, capa cious, propi tious ; id, 
as arid; al, il, ite, le, eel, as liberal, civil, docile, 

gentle, genteel; nal, as vernal; an, aiii, ean, ian, ane, 

ene, ine, as urb an, pi ain, tartar ean, barbar ian, mund ane, 
terrene, aquiline; end, as reverend; CUlld, as facund; 
ant, ent, as rumin ant, cog ent ; ai, ary, Ol'y, as sol ar, 
salutary, transitory; t, ate, ete, ite, as strict, ornate, 
compl ete, requis ite ; ive, as act ive ; lent, as corpu lent ; 
OSe, OUS, as verb ose, lumin ous, ardu ous ; pie, plCX, as 
mtdtiple, complex; se, as recluse. 



486 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

(c.) Greek, ac, ic, as cardi ac, ion ic ; id, oid, as par- 
ol id, conch oid ; g'Cll, as oxy gen. 

IV. Verbs, (a.) Vernacular, eil, as wid en ; er, as 
wav er. 

(b.) Latin and French, ate, as agitate; esce, as ef- 
fior esce ; fy, as magnify ; ise, as vapor ise ; ish, as pun ish. 
(c.) Greek, ize, as method ize. 

V. Adverbs, (a.) Vernacular, ly, heartily ; n, vjhen; 
S, Ce, St, Xt, need s, on ce, whil st, hetwi xt ; WayS, Wise, as 
al ways, like wise. 

(b.) Latin or French, a, as extr a ; tilW, as verba tim. 

§ 46. III. Word-formation by internal change in the 
stem, occurs often in the progress of our language, both in 
connection with affixes or the insertion of new elements, 
and also by simple change of elements. 

1. It takes place by mere transposition of elements, 
as from A.-S. wiht, a creature or thing, we have not 
only wight, a living creature, but by transposition, whit, a 
thing. In this case, there is change of meaning ; in other 
cases, the transposition is without such change ; as bird, 
dirt, ask, etc., were formerly spelled brid, drit, axe, etc. 

2. More frequently the elements are more or less 
changed, giving rise to additional words, or simply displa- 
cing existing words. We have thus a great many pairs or 
groups of words which Avere originally the same, but as- 
suming different orthographies for some reason or another, 
have been appropriated to different uses or meanings. For 
instance, we have bank, bench; brat, brood, breed; drill, 
tlirill, trill ; lurk, lurch ; tongs, tongues ; deal, dole ; evil, ill ; 
other, or ; of, off; outer, utter ; also, as ; thorough, through ; 
naught, not ; xoagon, icain ; screw, shrew ; shipper, skipper ; 
guise, wise; gage, wage. So of Latin and French origin, 
in some cases the spelling of one of the i^air following the 
Latin, that of the other, the French ; balm, balsam ; costume, 
custom. ; coffin, coffer ; cadence, chance ; captive, caitiff; 
corps, corpse ; quiet, coy ; imply, employ ; genius, engine ; 



DERIVATION. 487 

facU feat ; faction^ fashion ; gentle, genteel ; history, story ; 
legal, loyal; pass, pace; peniiettce, penance; secure, sure; 
singular, single. 

§ 47. IV. Word-formation by change of use is a promi- 
nent feature in the history of the English language. Words 
have changed their meaning. 1. Many of these changes 
have taken place under the necessary influence of an ad- 
vance of intelligence and science. As more objects are 
observed, classes are enlarged in their extension, and em- 
brace more individuals or species. It becomes necessary 
to use words denoting parts of these enlarged classes, and 
the word originally applied to the whole class is restricted 
to a part. Thus heo^t was once used to include the prin- 
ciple of intelligence and of choice as well as of. proper 
affection. So on the other hand, attribute- words, absti-acts, 
are enlarged in their comprehension as new characters are 
observed included in the attributes to which they were first 
applied ; and the necessity arises here also of restricting 
the meaning. Shakespeare thus uses success to include bad 
as well as good result ; honesty with him means honorable 
quality generally, not merely uprightness ; prevent he em- 
ploys in the sense of anticipating generally, not in the nar- 
rower sense of so anticipating as to hinder. So everywhere, 
words are ever becoming, in the progress of intelligence, 
restricted in their meaning, and thus is necessitated the in- 
troduction of new words. The vocabulary of every people 
that is advancing in civilization must ever be increasing. 

It must be admitted further that while most of the 
changes that occur in language come to be under general 
laws, as truly so as the manifold diversities in the form and 
color of the leaves of the same species of tree, there is 
yet seemingly an element of caprice, of wild imagination, 
or it may be of blundering stolidity often at work in the 
formation of speech. Mrs. Partington is a true type of 
this capricious force in forming words or in changing their 
form and use. Some resemblance in sound, in written 



488 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

form, or in signification is assumed, and on that is built up 
a new form or a new use, which often is accepted by the 
community, and a new word in form or meaning is estab- 
lished in the language. We have thus bride groom, for 
hride gum (A.-S. guma,a man) ; shame faced, for shamefast ; 
sparrow grass, for asparagus ; free mason, for frere mapon, 
(brother mason). We can only in such cases fall back on 
the fundamental principle of all thought, of all language, 
— the principle of partial identity, — of the same and the 
different ; and bear in mind also, in applying this principle, 
that in some cases only a wild fancy or a blundering sim- 
plicity would alight on the resemblance on which the word- 
change is started. 

2. But, again, words have changed their grammatical 
use. Thus primitive concretes and also attribute-words — 
original nouns and adjectives — are in English freely used 
as verbs without change of form. Thus in the following 
extract we have exemplifications of three verbs from nouns 
without change of form, except by inflection : " The 
boulder masses which hillock its peaks and stream down 
lis fissured sides," etc. The tendency to use nouns thus as 
verbs has been in recent times very strong, till it has well 
nigh become a law of the language legitimating such use 
in the case of any noun. Formerly the same freedom 
seems to have been allowed in using adjectives as verbs. 
Thus Wycliffe, Matt, xviii. 4 : " Therefore wlio ever mehith 
him," etc. ; and xxvi. 45 : " Lo, the our hath nyghede ; " and 
Luke xiv. 11 : " For eche that enhauncith hym shall be 
lowid ; and he that mehith hym shall be highid." So 
Chaucer, in Tale of Melibeus : " Wole ye that I go and 
melee me." In like manner, adjectives were used for 
adverbs ; but this practice seems to have reached its limit. 
If we may use first as an adverb, we are forbidden by the 
best authority from using second, third, etc., as adverbs. 
Most form-words, likewise, as prepositions, conjunctions, 
and auxiliaries, have arisen from notion-words in this 
change of irrammatical use. 



DERIVATION. 489 

§ 48. In this connection it will be proper to advert to 
the principles under which word-changes take place, or en- 
tirely new words are admitted into the English vocabulary, 
both in respect to the occasions or necessities which prompt 
the change or the admission, and the rules that preside 
over the change. 

The changes in the vocabulary of our language may, for 
the most part at least, be referred, in respect to the prompt- 
ing occasion, to one or the other of the following principles : 

1. The principle of neiv needs. The changes in the 
people speaking a given language, in their condition and 
relations, in their advancement or decline ; their change of 
government, of pursuits, of customs, of associations gener- 
ally, necessitate corresponding changes in their language. 
Old words become useless, and are dropped out ; new words 
come in. Mr. Marsh, in his Seventh Lecture on the 
English Language,^ says : " I think it safe to say that 
the substitution of cotton for linen and the supply of tis- 
sues by large manufacturing establishments instead of by 
domestic labor, have alone driven out of use seven or 
eight per cent, of the words which formed the staple • of 
household conversation in the agricultural districts of the 
Northern States. Similar changes have taken place, 
though not so recently, in the domestic dialect of England, 
and indeed of the principal Continental countries." Such 
an influence of but one of the causes of change in words 
forcibly exemplifies the general fact of the ever-changing 
character of a vocabulary as occasioned by the change in 
the character and condition of the people that use it. 

2. The principle of euphemism. It is characteristic of 
a refined society, that words used in offensive significations 
or associations are avoided, and others are used instead, 
less objectionable in this respect. In this way old vulgar 
words became obsolete ; and the replacing words, at first 
unexceptionable, gradually became vulgarized and them- 

1 Marsh's Lectures on the English Language, p. 270. 



490 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

selves finally disappear in the same way. This seeming 
degeneracy in words proves the advancing refinement of the 
people. The English vocabulary shows a great change in 
this respect. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Pope, used words that 
if understood would now shock a sensibility not over-nice, 
although used in the most refined society in their times. 
The King James version of the Bible has many expres- 
sions, once not offensive, that have become thus vulgarized. 
Lewd, thus meant only uneducated, lay, in opposition to 
clerical; wa?iton, mesLnt sportive ; damn, condemn. Genera- 
tion after generation of the grosser words have passed away 
in the history of our vocabulary ; and the changing process 
goes on still. 

It is to be remarked in this connection that words of 
Latin origin are less plain, and for this reason often less 
offensive, than proper vernacular words. This principle of 
euphemism has accordingly replaced old Saxon words with 
words of Latin stock. The principle reaches also all foreign 
words, as well as Latin. 

3. The principle of emphasis. There is a universal, a 
natural propensity to use the strongest expressions which a 
language furnishes — to intensify as far as is allowed. 
Hence tamer words drop from use, giving way to intenser 
expressions. Not, the compound of ne and aught, any- 
thing, has, as before mentioned, displaced the simple nega- 
tive. So affixed woi-ds are often substituted for their 
simples, as begin for gin, unloose for loose. Certain ele- 
ments of a word are sometimes doubled for stronger ex- 
pression. Of these reduplicate forms, Professor Gibbs ^ 
gives the following instances : bibble-hahhle, chit-chat, click- 
clach, crincum-crancum, dilly-dally, ding-dong, dingle-dangle, 
jiddle-faddle, jlim-flam, gew-gaw, gibble-gabble, giffe-gaffe, 
hiich-hnach, mingle-mangle, mist-mast, pintle-pantle, pit-a- 
pat, prittle-prattle, riff-raff, see-saw, shilly-shally, shim-sham, 
sing-song, skimble-skamble, slip-slop, snip-snap, tick-tack, tit- 
tle-tattle, twittle-twattle, whim-wham, zig-zag. 
1 Teutonic Etymologies, pp. 57-62. 



DERIVATION. 491 

4. The principle of 'parsimony. The propensity to ab- 
breviate expression, to omit letters, syllables, modifying 
words, so far as possible, was more active in the early 
stages of the English language than now, yet still exists. 
Many compounds with abbreviated simples have become ob- 
solete. Thus in " Piers Ploughman " we find artow, art 
thou ; sestow, seest thou ; slepestow, sleepest thou ; woltow, 
wilt thou ; in Wycliffe, noot, know not ; upsodown, upside 
down, also used by Piers Ploughman and Chaucer. In- 
stances of the operation of this principle are furlong (fur- 
row long), grant (guaranty), palsy (paralysis), cai (cabrio- 
let), phiz (physiognomy), tick (etiquette). Modifying words 
also are dropped. Thus Latimer says correctly old-aged ; 
we use aged in the same sense. Century is used without the 
modifying words once used, and, according to its etymology, 
necessary for exact expression. Corpse meant simply body. 
Chaucer, accordingly, " Legende of Goode Women," ver. 
677, wrote : " this dede corps," in order to limit its mean- 
ing to his use — this dead body. 

5. The principle of euphony. Under this principle, 
words difficult of enunciation, or unpleasant to the ear, have 
been dropped, and changes have been wrought in the forms 
of other words. Milton used scMsmless, strippd'st. Shake- 
speare has distraught, and bestraught, skinher, slubber; 
Spenser has ewghen, counterfesaunce ; Chaucer, altherlevest, 
ferforthely, swound, quoke, exorcisations, etc. 

6. The principle of discrimination. Under this prin- 
ciple, words originally synonymous have become appro- 
priated to different uses, as already noticed. The diverse 
origin of the English people and the English vocabulary 
gives the language a great advantage in the application of 
this principle. Thus, after the Norman conquest, words 
of Anglo-Saxon origin were applied to those uses with 
which the Anglo-Saxon people were more conversant; 
while Latin or French words, meaning the same thing, 
were appropriated to the uses with which the Norman 



492 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

French invaders v/ere familiar. The A.-S. sheep and Fr. 
mouton denoted the same object ; but the Saxon rustic 
was more familiar with the living animal in the field ; the 
French lord knew it best in the larder or on the table. 
So ox, heef; stool, chair ; loagon, carriage, etc. This prin- 
ciple has a very wide application. Under its operation, 
our vocabulary has become so enriched as to enable us to 
discriminate shades of meaning to an extent unequaled by 
any other language. Even words from the Greek are 
discriminated from corresponding words from the Latin ; 
as fancy, fantasy, from the Greek is discriminated from 
imagination from the Latin. A few pairs of words taken 
at random will serve to illustrate the extent of the operation 
of this principle ; as hough, branch ; limb, member ; wish, 
desire ; dread, terror ; only, unique ; luch, fortune ; worh, 
labor ; feeling, sentiment; siveat, j^erspiration ; jobbery, dep- 
redation ; murder, homicide ; wonderful, admirable ; lying, 
m,endacious ; daily, diurnal, journal. We find, in fact, that 
while for the uses of common life, for denoting sensible and 
individual objects, the things of daily experience and closest 
familiarity, the near connections of kindred, the specific 
acts of life, and the form-words of speech as well as for 
strong and pithy expression, words of Anglo-Saxon origin 
are generally used, those of French or classic origin are 
employed for the generic, the scientific, and technical, and 
for colder, tamer expression. 

§ 49. As to the rules that preside over the introduction 
of new words into the English vocabulary, while words 
from any foreign source come with little difficulty into the 
language, the way is entirely open and clear for words 
from the Latin and the Greek. Scarcely the slightest 
hindrance is presented to the admission of any word from 
these sources which any real or imagined need in speaking- 
can require. Moreover, the English language, like the 
English-speaking people, is characterized by its readiness 
to admit on the easiest terms of naturalization. At first. 



DERIVATION. 493 

the foreign word is received in its native sound, as near as 
English organs can utter it, in its native spelling, and in its 
native meaning. When received, the new word becomes 
subject to the wear of English analogies. It allows its 
accent to move back to a preceding syllable ; it gradually 
conforms the sounds of vowels and consonants to English 
habit ; it assumes a more English orthography ; it submits 
to such service in expressing thought as the new associa- 
tions may impose. "While this process is going on, we have 
the common experience in English speech of variant and 
unsettled use in respect of pronunciation, of spelling, and 
also of meaning ; we have, too, a truly hybrid pronuncia- 
tion and spelling, partly English and partly foreign. The 
word depot, thus, is pronounced and spelled neither wholly 
according to English nor according to French analogy, 
and has a meaning greatly restricted from its native sense. 
Under this easy naturalization, it is not strange that the 
English vocabulary is composite, and also copious beyond 
any other tongue. As hybridism between vernacular and 
classical stems and affixes is allowed with little restriction, 
the exact distribution of our words in respect of their 
lineage is rendered well nigh impracticable, as also to a 
less degree by the fact that often the foreign primitive has 
become so worn and transformed in English use that it is 
doubtful whether the emigrant has not lost its identity. 
The revised edition of the " American Dictionary," pub- 
lished in 1864, contains upwards of 114,000 words. Prob- 
ably not one half of these are to be found in use in general 
literature ; the others are scientific, technical, or provincial. 
There are not more than fifteen thousand different words 
in Shakespeare ; not more than eight thousand in Milton's 
poems ; less than six thousand in the King James version 
of the Bible. The numerical proportion of words from the 
sciences is, of course, ever varying. It differs not less in 
different authors than in the whole vocabulary at different 
periods. Approximate estimates have been made of this 



494 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE, 

proportion. Dean Trench estimated that of the whole 
English vocabulary, about sixty per cent, of the words are 
properly Anglo-Saxon; about thirty per cent. Latin and 
French ; five per cent. Greek ; and five per cent, from 
miscellaneous sources. Mr. Marsh ^ estimates that the 
whole vocabulary of the English Bible and of Shake- 
speare contains about sixty per cent, of Anglo-Saxon, 
while that of Milton contains less than thirty-three per 
cent. But in the actual use of words the percentage of 
Anglo-Saxon words rises much higher. Thus from pas- 
sages examined, it appears that the New Testament has 
over ninety per cent, of Anglo-Saxon ; Shakespeare nearly 
the same proportion ; INIilton over eighty per cent. 

1 Lecture VI. 



CHAPTER VIIL 

PUNCTUATION. 

§ 50. Points in literature are marks or characters other 
than letters or numeral figures, introduced in the progress 
of literature to help the expression of the thought in writ- 
ing or printing. The present system of literary punctua- 
tion was chiefly determined by three celebrated printers 
in Venice of the name of Manutius; Aldus the father, 
Paulus the son, and Aldus (the younger) the grandson, 
who successively conducted the printing business in Venice 
from 1490 to 1584. Additions, however, to the points in 
use and changes in the mode of using them have been 
made from time to time, till now it has become convenient 
to classify them more exactly in reference to the different 
purposes for which they are used. Four distinct classes 
may now be distinguished: Etymological, Grammatical, 
Rhetorical, and Typographical. 

1. Etymological Points are used to indicate some- 
thing in regard to the formation, use, or omission of words 
or parts of words. They are the Apostrophe (') ; the Caret 
( ^ ) ; the Diaeresis (" ) ; Marks of Quantity ( " " ) ; Marks 
of Accent ( ' ' " )-, the Hyphen (-) ; and the Period (.). 

2. Grammatical Points are used to show the degree 
of separation between sentences or parts of sentences. 
They are the Paragraph (T[) ; the Period (.) ; the Colon 
(:) ; the Semi-Colon (;) ; and the Comma (,). 

3. Proper Rhetorical Points are used to indicate 
something in the character of the thought expressed. They 
are the Exclamation Point (!) ; the Interrogation Point (?) ; 



496 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

the Dash ( — ) ; the Quotation Marks, which are either 
Double (" ") or Single (' ') ; Mai'ks of Parenthesis ( ) ; 
and Brackets [ J. 

4. The Typographical Points, also called Points of 
Reference, are used to refer the reader to sonie other place 
in the page or the book. They are the Asterisk (*) ; the 
Obelisk or Dagger (t) ; the Double Obelisk (i) ; the 
Section (§) ; Parallels (||) ; and the Paragraph (H). Let- 
ters and figures are used for the same purpose. 

See " Art of Composition," Appendix No. I., §§ 512- 
651, for the Rules of Punctuation. 



CHAPTER IX. 

PROSODY. 

§ 51. Prosody is the doctrine of the form of discourse 
as form. As poetry differs from prose in this, that the 
forrti rules in it, prosody, is correctly defined as the doc- 
trine of poetical form. See " Art of Discourse," §§ 24-27. 

Poetic form may respect the thought or the verbal body 
of the thought. We have accordingly such a poetic form 
as the Hebrew Parallelism where the recurring form of the 
thought is the proper poetic element; as well as also 
those more familiar kinds in which the poetic form lies in 
the verbal element of discourse. 

The verbal form of poetry may lie in the quality of the 
sound, in mere assonance, or in the time and force of the 
sound, that is, in the accentuation. 

Of assonance we have two leading varieties : 1. Allitera- 
tion, or recurrence of the same alphabetic element at the 
beginning of a syllable or word — initial assonance ; 2. 
Rhyme, or recurrence of the same sound at the end of a 
syllable or word — terminal assonance. 

The poetic form lying in accentuation is Rhythm. 

But poetic form may lie in the poem considered as a 
whole, as well as in the two elements of discourse — the 
idea and the verbal body. The poem may be viewed as 
a single whole, and may have a certain form as such, or as 
consisting of parts having a like form. We recognize, ac- 
cordingly, such poetic forms as the sonnet and the like, — 
kinds of poems which have a law presiding over the form 
of the construction ; and, also, parts of poems of a like 
form called stanzas, strophes, and aniistrophes, etc. 
32 



498 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

Such is the relationship between the different generic 
kinds of poetic forms, giving the logical ground of classifi- 
cation and enumeration. These generic forms, so far as 
occurring prominently in English poetic literature, are pre- 
sented in order in the following sections with their respec- 
tive subdivisions. 

§ 52. Alliteration is the poetic form of initial asso- 
nance. It was a prominent characteristic of Anglo-Saxon 
poetry and gave law to the verse ; it abounds in Spenser 
and in all our poets, so far as they excel in the oral prop- 
erties of style. 

§ 53. Rhyme is the poetic form of terminal assonance. 
It generally appears only at the end of a verse, or of a 
leading part of a verse. 

Rhyme is called perfect when like vowel sounds in the 
last accented syllables are followed by like alphabetic 
sounds, and preceded by unlike consonant sounds. 

It is said to be imperfect when the vowel sounds in the 
last accented syllables are unlike, or are followed by un- 
like alphabetic sounds, or are preceded by like consonant 
sounds. 

Rhymes, further, are successive, when they occur on suc- 
cessive verses ; alternate, when they occur on alternate 
verses ; or interrupted, when more than one verse inter- 
venes between the rhyming verses. 

Rhymes, moreover, are single, double, or triple, according 
as the assonance is confined to one syllable, or is extended 
to two or to three syllables. 

In the following stanza from Coleridge's " Ode on Dejec- 
tion," the first and second verses exemplify a perfect and 
also successive rhyme ; the third and fifth are imperfect and 
also alternate rhyme ; the ninth taken with the last two, 
perfect and interrupted rhyme : — 

" 'Tis midniglit, but small thoughts have I of sleep : 
Full seldom may my fricuds such vigils keep ! 
Visit her, gentle Sleep 1 with wings of healing, 



PROSODY. 499 

And may this stonn be but a mountain-birth ; 
May all the stars hang bright aboTe her dwelling, 

Silent as though they watched the sleeping earth ! 
AVith light heart may she rise, 
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, 

Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice : 
To her may all things live, from Pole to Pole, 
Their life the eddying of her living soul ! 
simple spirit guided from above. 

Dear Lady ! friend devoutest of my choice, 

Thus mayest thou ever, evermore r^oice." 



§ 54. Rhythm is the poetic form lying in accentuation. 
It consists essentially in the regular recurrence of accented 
syllables. 

An accented syllable, with the unaccented syllables 
either preceding or following that are associated with it, 
make up a poetic measure. The regular recurrence of 
a certain number of poetic measures forms a poetic verse. 
Verses are distinguished accordingly from one another by 
the number of measures of which they are constituted. 
Verses of one measure each are called monometers ; of two 
measures, dimeters ; of three, trimeters ; of four, tetram- 
eters ; of five, pentameters ; of six, hexameters, etc. 

Moreover, a verse that drops off the unaccented syllable 
or syllables at the end is said to be Gatalectic — incom- 
plete ; while one that adds on an unaccented syllable or 
syllables is called Hypercatalectic. A verse regularly con- 
stituted in this respect is called Acatalectic. 

A poetic measure may have an indeterminate number 
of unaccented syllables associated with the accented syl- 
lable. Anglo-Saxon verse thus was composed of measures 
of varying number of unaccented syllables. A poetic 
measure of a determinate number of unaccented syllables 
is a poetic /ooi. 

There are various kinds of poetic feet distinguished from 
one another: 1, in respect of the number of unaccented 
syllables joined with the accented syllable ; and 2, in re- 
spect of the position of the unaccented syllables, whether 



500 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

before or after the accented syllable. The following are 
the leading varieties occurring in English poetry. 

1. The Iambus, consisting of one unaccented and one 
accented syllable ; as contain, repose. 

2. The Trochee, consisting of one accented and one un- 
accented syllable ; as gentle, taper. 

3. The Dactyl, consisting of one accented and two un- 
accented syllables ; as mariner, wandering. 

4. The Anapest, consisting of two unaccented and one 
accented syllable ; as overlook, disregard. 

5. The Amphibrach, consisting of one unaccented, one 
accented, and one unaccented syllable; as remember, im- 
mortal. 

6. The Pceon, consisting of four syllables, one of which 
is accented. It is of course of four forms, according as the 
accented syllable is the first, second, third, or fourth ; as 
consequently, embarrassing, comprehension, overabound. 

There ai-e other kinds of poetic feet to be found, chiefly 
imitations of classical feet, the constituent syllables in 
which differed in quantity as long and short, not as Eng- 
lish poetical feet, the constituent syllables in which differ 
in accentuation. 

The various combinations of these poetical feet consti- 
tute so many varieties of verse. We have, accordingly, 
verses that are iambic monometers, iambic dimeters, etc., 
as also trochaic monometers, dimeters, etc., and so of the 
other feet. 

The iambic pentameter, that is, the verse made up of 
five iambic feet, has been the chosen verse in our great 
poems, and has been known under the name of the Heroic 
verse. The iambic hexameter verse is called Alexandrine. 

§ 55. A Stanza is a part of a poem consisting of a like 
number of like verses. 

As the possible combinations of feet and verses are well 
nigh unlimited, there can be no enumeration of the differ- 
ent kinds of stanzas. Our literature is growing ever rich(fr 



PROSODY. 501 

in these varieties. Several forms of the stanza, however, 
have gained special denominations. 

Rhymes Royal, is the name of the stanza of the " Clerkes 
Tale " in Chaucer. It is composed of seven heroics, the 
first and third, the second, fourth, and fifth, and the last 
two verses rhyming. 

Ottava Rima is a stanza of eight heroic verses, with 
alternate rhymes, except the last two verses, which are 
successive. 

The Spenserian Stanza consists of eight heroics and one 
Alexandrine verse. The first and third verses rhyme ; the 
second, fourth, fifth, and seventh ; and the sixth, eighth, and 
ninth. 

Gay''s Stanza is composed of four iambic trimeters, with 
alternate rhymes, the odd ones being in double rhymes. 

The Elegiac Stanza consists of four heroics in alternate 
rhymes. 

The Ballad Stanza consists of four iambic verses in 
alternate rhymes, the odd verses being tetrameters, the even 
verses trimeters. It is the Common Meter of sacred lyrics. 

§ 56. The Sonnet is the only regular form of a poem as a 
whole, which requires notice. It consists of fourteen hero- 
ics with interrupted rhymes. 

Sonnets appeared early in Proven9al literature. They 
were much cultivated in Italy, Petrarch having left over 
three hundred, and Tasso over one thousand. They were 
also found in the earlier literature of Spain and Germany, 
as well as of England. In France the houts rimes seem to 
have hindered the introduction of them. 

The Italian sonnet consisted of two quatrains and two 
tercets, or two parts of four verses each, and two of three 
verses each. The earlier English sonnet consisted of 
three quatrains and one couplet. The later English son- 
net varies greatly in the law of the rhyme, which is the 
element that connects the parts. Sometimes the law of 
the rhyme extends through the sonnet, except the last two 



602 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

verses, making the sonnet very compact. Sometimes the 
sonnet is made up of distichs of alternate rhymes. In the 
Italian sonnet, which Milton adopts as his model, the two 
quatrains are bound together by the rhyme extending 
through them, and the two tercets are similarly connected. 
§ 57. A very impoi'tant element affecting poetic form is 
the ccesura, v/hich consists in a division of a poetic foot or 
verse by the interruption of the sense. It is of the two 
kinds : — 

1. The caesura of the Foot, in which parts of the same 
foot are separated by a suspension of the voice in a reading 
that properly renders the sense. 

2. The cassura of the Verse, in which such a pause divides 
the verse. 

It varies in strength according as the interruption of the 
thought is greater or less. 

As the principle of poetic harmony requires that the 
verbal form should coincide with the thought, the violations 
of this law are faulty, except when introduced for some 
urgent reason, as for the sake of variety, or of energy. 
Where, however, partial suspensions of the sense are intro- 
duced in coincidence with the regular divisions of the voice, 
the poetic harmony is not disturbed and the effect of the 
caesura is very pleasing. Thus the caesura of the verse at 
the end of the second foot, and the caesura of the foot on 
the fifth syllable of an heroic verse generally make the 
poetic form more perfect. But it is more or less faulty 
when the divisions of the feet, or of the verses, or of the 
couplets, or of the stanzas, do not correspond with the di- 
visions of the thought. To carry the sentence over incom- 
plete, thus, from one stanza to another is a serious fault ; 
as it is to separate the closely connected parts of the sen- 
tence by the verse. At all events, some higher object, as 
the better presentation of the thought, must be recognized 
to justify such disagreement between the idea and the outer 
poetic form. 



CHAPTER X. 

ORATORY. 

§ 58. Oratory is discourse addressed to a present audi- 
ence. It implies at once a speaker and a hearer in im- 
mediate communication. It has two grand departments, 
according as its ultimate and governing end or object is to 
be accomplished in the mind addressed or only through it. 
The leading branches in these two grand departments are 
sacred or pulpit oratory in the first ; and in the second, 
forensic oratory, including the two kinds of judicial and 
deliberative or parliamentary. See " Art of Discourse," 
Introduction, Chapter IV. English oratory has a grand 
history in each of these departments. 

§ 59. In pulpit eloquence, which took the lead, Hugh 
Latimer, 1475-1555, is the earliest of distinction whose 
discourses have been preserved. He was a learned, earnest, 
droll but powerful preacher. Richard Hooker, 1534-1600, 
is better known as the author of " Ecclesiastical Polity," 
from which an extract has been given in the First Part, 
profound and yet clear in thought, and forcible as well as 
pure and rhythmical in diction. In the following century 
appear the great names of Joseph Hall, warm in his piety, 
rich in his conceits, and silvery in style ; William Chilling- 
worth, remarkable for perspicuity and severest logic in 
reasoning ; Thomas Fuller, sententious and quaint ; Jeremy 
Taylor, of great learning, luxuriant imagination, and flowing, 
even redundant diction ; Isaac Barrow, whose masterly dis- 
courses are characterized by their exactness of method, 
accuracy of discrimination, richness of invention, and preg- 



504 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

nant brevity of style ; Robert Leighton, a divine of heav- 
enly si^irit and admirable simplicity and sweetness of 
expression ; John Tillotson, clear, forcible, but wanting in 
all the oral properties of discourse, in melody, in rhythm, 
and in harmony ; Edward vStillingfleet, sound in judgment 
and energetic in utterance ; Robert South, reputed to be 
the wittiest of divines ; and Richard Baxter, earnest, in- 
structive, practical. The eighteenth century is less prolific 
in pulpit oratory. It presents, however, the eminent names 
of Joseph Butler, Isaac Watts, Philip Doddridge, Thomas 
Sherlock, Robert Lowth, and Robert Hall, besides the elo- 
quent Whitefield and Wesley, and the illustrious American 
theologian and preachei', Jonathan Edwards. The nine- 
teenth century abounds in sacred oratory, and affords mas- 
tei'-pieces in all the several departments of eloquence, so 
that the student of sacred eloquence may find models of 
excellence in any desired attribute of discourse. The 
further progress in this branch of our literature will hardly 
be in advancing any one characteristic of pulpit eloquence 
beyond existing exemplars, but in the fuller and richer 
combination of excellences already exemplified. 

§ 60. Forensic has entered far less than sacred oratory 
into the permanent literature of our tongue. Eloquence is 
essentially a matter of the time, the occasion. Its divinest 
strains pass away on the fleeting air, and its traces are at 
best but faint and dim. Of the early periods of English 
litei'ature we have preserved no remains of high oratory. 

In judicial eloquence, we read of those legal luminaries 
in the reign of James I., Sir Edward Coke, Francis Bacon, 
and Thomas Fleming, who were contemporaries. Among 
them the last named stood highest as an orator by general 
consent at the time, yet his name is hardly known to his own 
profession at the present day. Successors to this high re- 
nown as advocates are the rare names of Sir Matthew Hale, 
1609-1676, Lord Mansfield, 1705-1792, and Thomas Ers- 
kine, 1750-1823, preeminently the greatest of British advo- 



ORATORY. 505 

cates. To this brief list add the names of Lord Ellenbor- 
ough, Lord Brougham, Sir Samuel Romilly, and the Irish 
Curran and Plunkett, and the record seems complete of 
the very eminent judicial orators of Great Britain. The 
American Bar has a much more recent but hardly less bril- 
liant history, and the judicial speeches of William Wirt, 
1772-1834, Daniel Webster, 1782-1852, Rufus Choate, 
1799-1859, and Seargent S. Prentiss, 1808-1850, have 
become incorporated into the permanent forms of our liter- 
ature. 

§ 61. In deliberative, that is to say here, in parliamentary 
eloquence, the first of British orators whose oratory has 
been sufficiently preserved for study and, perhaps, the first 
in oratorical power, is the elder Pitt, Lord Chatham, 1708- 
1778, whose eloquence was not that of argument and elab- 
orated thought, but of vehemence and of action. A diligent 
student of Spenser and of Barrow, his diction was pure and 
expressive, as well as easy and fluent. His thought was 
rapid and abrupt, flashing rather than radiant, impetuous 
and imperious. His outward manner, his voice, his atti- 
tude and gesticulation, his action, was a gifted nature im- 
proved and perfected by most assiduous culture. His son, 
William Pitt, the younger, 1759-1806, succeeding by a short 
interval, rivaled his father's eminence in the House of Com- 
mons. Inheriting a mind of rare vigor and capacity, he 
was placed under a most careful training and discipline. 
His first speech in parliament at the early age of twenty- 
one, two years after his father's death, was a triumph, 
prompting Bui'ke to say he was " not a chip of the old 
block, but the old block itself" His oratory was in strong 
contrast with that of his father, not fervid and electric, but 
on the contrary cold, studied, dignified. Lucid, ai'gumen- 
tative, polished, he was ever self-possessed and temperate. 
His contemporary and rival, Charles James Fox, 1749- 
1806, less logical than Pitt, surpassed him in the warmth, 
the earnestness, the passionate outflow of his eloquence. 



506 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

He has been regarded as the British Demosthenes. If less 
effective as a speaker before a listening assembly, much 
higher as a literary orator must be ranked another star 
in this brilliant constellation of parliamentary eloquence, 
Edmund Burke, 1730-1797. More learned, more philo- 
sophical, more imaginative, he was too much of a scholar, 
too much of a philosopher, too much of a poet, to be suc- 
cessful in the highest degree, in the arena of eloquence. 
His speeches, listened to with little enthusiasm, will be 
read with delighted interest and profit by every student of 
English oratory. In this bright group stands also uneclipsed 
by the great lights around him, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
1751-1816, the dramatist as well as orator, whose speech 
before the House of Lords in the great trial of Warren 
Hastings, Burke pronounced " the most astonishing effort 
of eloquence, argument, and wit united, of which there was 
any record or tradition." To this illustrious list must still 
be added the names of Grattan, Canning, and Brougham, 
whose speeches have worthily enriched the parliamentary 
literature of Great Britain. In the American legislative 
halls, the more conspicuous names in our oratorical litera- 
ture are Patrick Henry, 1736-1797, Fisher Ames, 1758- 
1808, John Randolph, 1773-1833, John C. Calhoun, 1782- 
1850, Henry Clay, 1777-1852, Daniel Webster, 1782- 
1852, Edward Everett, 1794-1865, each a model in his 
own peculiar style of oratory. 



CHAPTER XL 

HISTORY. 

§ 62. History proper, as distinguished from mere annals 
on the one hand and philosophical history on the other, 
finds a large and an honorable place in English literature. 
In its several departments of history in the stricter sense, 
or the narrative of national progress and of biography and 
travels, this kind of discourse has been diligently and suc- 
cessfully elaborated. In philosophical history, English 
Literature has a well nigh unoccupied field before it. 

Proper History had its beginning nobly signalized by 
the great work of Sir Walter Raleigh, 1552-1618, the 
" History of the World," from the creation to the conquest 
of Asia and Macedonia by the Romans, — a monument 
of industry, as of literary taste and ability. A half century 
afterwards appeared the " History of the Rebellion," by Lord 
Clarendon ; and soon after, 1679, the first volume of Bishop 
Burnet's " History of the Reformation," the third volume 
of which was published in 1714. After another half cen- 
tury appeared in quick chronological succession, the three 
great historians of the eighteenth century, David Hume, 
who wrote a voluminous " History of England," 1754-1761 ; 
William Robertson, who published his " History of Scot- 
land" in 1759 ; his " History of Charles V." in 1769, and 
his " History of America " in 1777 ; and Edward Gibbon, 
who, as he tells us in his admirable Autobiography, " wrote 
the last lines of the last page " of his great " History of 
the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," " on the day, 
or rather night of the 27th of June, 1787." The nineteenth 



508 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

century has been prolific in proper historical discourse of 
the highest rank and merit. It has introduced into our 
permanent classical literature Grote's " History of Greece ;" 
Arnold's "History of Rome;" Hallam's "View of the 
State of Europe in the Middle Ages," " Constitutional His- 
tory of England," and " Introduction to the Literature of 
Europe in the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Cen- 
turies ; " and the brilliant histories of the age following the 
discovery of America by tbe three American historians, 
Irving, Prescott, and Motley. Washington Irving, 1783- 
1859, who first of the three entered this field of historic 
research, published his " History of the Life and Voyages 
of Christopher Columbus," in 1828, which was followed by 
his " Voyages and Discoveries of the Companions of 
Columbus." William H. Prescott, 1796-1859, published 
his " History of Ferdinand and Isabella " in 1837 ; his 
" History of the Conquest of Mexico" in 1843 ; his " Con- 
quest of Peru " in 1847 ; and his " History of the Reign of 
Philip II." in 1855-1858. John Lothrop Motley, b. 1814, 
published his "Rise of the Dutch Republic" in 1856, and 
his " United Netherlands " in 1860-1867. 

§ 63. In Biographical Literature, all along down from 
its beginnings with the classic Lives of Donne, Richard 
Hooker, and George Herbert, by Izaak Walton, to the 
most recent times, works are found of eminent worth and 
of lasting fame. The leading poets and writers in other 
departments of prose have entered this field, and left proud 
monuments of their genius. Walter Scott, Thomas Moore, 
and Robert Southey, Samuel Johnson, Macaulay, and Irving 
are but the few among the many. But in grand distinc- 
tion from all other English biographies stands the " Life 
of Samuel Johnson " by James Boswell, of which it is suffi- 
cient to quote the opinion of Macaulay : " Homer is not 
more decidedly the first of heroic poets, Shakespeare is 
not more decidedly the first of dramatists, Demosthenes 
is not more decidedly the first of orators, than Boswell is 



HISTORY. 509 

the first of iDiographers. He has no second. He has dis- 
tanced all his competitors so decidedly, that it is not worth 
while to place them.'' 

In the coordinate field of travels and voj'ages there is 
the same luxuriant product. With much diversity of lit- 
erary excellence there is little of classical preeminence, 
and the point of attraction and groundrof selection are to 
be found chiefly in the character of the subject. 



CHAPTER XII. 

SCIENTIFIC DISCOURSE. 

§ 64. The two familiar departments of Scientific Dis- 
course, as given by the nature of the subject of which they 
treat, are (1) Physical, treating of matter in its attributes, 
its forms, relations, and laws — the sensible world ; and 
(2) Metaphysical, treating of the rational spirit, its at- 
tributes, its conditions, and functions. But the material 
world can be subject of knowledge, of science, only as it is 
shaped and moved by mind, and as the human spirit acts 
out its own proper life only through physical organs, the 
history of our scientific literature cannot well be given, 
without needless repetition and confusion, in strictly fol- 
lowing this line of discrimination between physical and 
metaphysical discourse. Much less can the lines of 
subordinate demarcation between the branches and re- 
moter ramifications of these several departments be closely 
followed. The succession of authors who have made per- 
manent contributions to our scientific literature, only as 
generally and rather vaguely distinguished in these several 
departments, will be presented. 

§ 65. The highest of all the departments of science — 
the science of theology — has been most fully and per- 
haps most successfully cultivated. In this field, going no 
farther back than the seventeenth century, taking in, how- 
ever, the illustrious Hooker already noticed, who died in 
the first year of this century, we find first Bishop Joseph 
Hall, before mentioned ; William Chillingworth, the author 
of " The Religion of Protestants a Safe Way to Salvation," 



SCIENTIFIC DISCOURSE. 511 

of which Locke said, " the constant reading of Chilling- 
worth will both teach perspicuity and the way of right 
reasoning better than any work I know ; " Jeremy Taylor ; 
Ralph Cudworth, whose principal work is " The Intellec- 
tual System of the Universe ; " Isaac Barrow ; Robert 
Leighton ; Philip Doddridge ; Joseph Butler, whose im- 
mortal work, "The Analogy of Religion, Natural and 
Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature," is for 
all times ; William Paley, the ever popular writer of " Prin- 
ciples of Moral and Political Philosophy," " Horae Paulinae," 
" Evidences of Christianity," and " Natural Theology ; " and 
Jonathan Edwards the elder, who stands paired in intellec- 
tual strength and acumen with the author of the " Analogy." 
§ 66. In the science of the human spirit, our literature 
may be regarded as beginning with Lord Bacon, who, 
although his great philosophical work, the " Organon," was 
composed in Latin, wrote in English his treatise, which he 
regarded as the first part in relation to the " Organon " as 
the second part of one comprehensive plan, entitled, " Of 
the Proficience and Advancement of Learning, Divine and 
Human." This, with his famous " Essays," is a foundation 
stone in our literature. Contemporary with Bacon was 
Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury, 1588-1679, whose lead- 
ing work was entitled, " Leviathan : or, the Matter, Form, 
and Power of a Commonwealth, Ecclesiastical, and Civil." 
He wrote also a small treatise on Human Nature, and a 
letter on Liberty and Necessity. The next great name in 
metaphysical authorship is John Locke, 1632-1704. His 
most celebrated work is the " Essay concerning Human 
Understanding." Besides his publications on political and 
theological subjects, he left a tract " On the Conduct of the 
Understanding." Contemporary with Locke was Robert 
Boyle, 1627-1671, a voluminous writer on metaphysical, 
theological, and political subjects. In the next age ap- 
peared Lord Shaftesbury, 1671-1713, and Bishop Berkeley, 
1684-1753, both leaving ineffaceable impressions on British 



612 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

metaphysical science. After this period the Scotch mind 
leads the way in this department of science. After Francis 
Hutcheson, born in Ireland but educated in Glasgow, came 
David Hume, Adam Smith, Henry Home (Lord Kames), 
James Beattie, Archibald Alison, and that ilkistrious 
succession of Edinburgh metaphysicians, Thomas Reid, 
Dugald Stewart, Thomas Brown, and Sir William Hamil- 
ton, the most eminent of all. In England appeared also 
men vvho labored successfully in this field, as David Hart- 
ley, Richard Price, Abraham Tucker, Joseph Priestley, and 
the more recent writers. Sir James Mackintosh, a Scotch- 
man by birth and education, James Mill, and Samuel Tay- 
lor Coleridge. 

§ 67. The literature of Physical Science, with which may 
be associated that of mathematical science both pure and 
applied, is valued more in respect of its content, its subject- 
matter, than of its literary character. It would hardly be 
just, if practicable, to enumerate the labors in this field 
and grade them according to their proper literary merit. 
Their works will be sought and appreciated rather for what 
they present that is new or excellent than for the form in 
which this is done, or for the influence they have had on 
the progress or present character of our literature. It 
must suffice to say that while the physical sciences have 
had for the most part but a recent origin, the British and 
Anglo-American mind has been most prolific in this species 
of intellectual products, and exhibited genius of the highest 
order. It is enough to mention the names of Bacon, Sir 
Isaac Newton, Benjamin Franklin, Sir John Herschel, 
Sir Humphrey Davy, Sir David Brewster, Rev. William 
Whewell, Hugh Miller, omitting a host of hardly less illus- 
trious contributors to science. 

§ 68. The literature of science has for a century past 
been embodied to a large extent in tem^jorary forms. 
Periodical literature, indeed, has been, since the beginning 
of the last century, a most renuirkable growth. Starting 



SCIENTIFIC DISCOURSE. 513 

with the "Tatler," by Sir Richard Steele, a small paper 
published three times a week, the first issue of which was 
on the 12th of April, 1709, that grand succession of Essays 
followed in papers bearing different names, as the " Spec- 
tator," the " Guardian," the " Rambler," the " Adventurer," 
the " Idler " etc., which has given their chief celebrity to 
Addison, Johnson, Hawkesworth, Mackenzie, and others. 
In 1731, commenced the higher class of monthly period- 
icals called magazines, with the " Gentleman's Magazine," 
by Mr. Cave, and in October, 1802, appeared the first 
number of the " Edinburgh Review," a type of the more 
grave and elaborate Quarterlies. A new order of essayists 
arose, in which are ranked as the more brilliant lights, 
Fi-ancis Jeffrey, Sidney Smith, Thomas B. Macaulay, Sir 
James Mackintosh, Thomas Carlyle, and Professor John 
Wilson. 

Not a little of our most valuable scientific and critical 
literature is incorporated in the encyclopaedias of the last 
century and a half The first of these was the Cyclopaedia 
of Ephraim Chambers, first published in 1728 in London, 
of which a number of editions were issued. In 1770 was 
published the " Encyclopaedia Britannica," by William 
Smellie, and in 1802 the first volume of " Rees's Cyclo- 
paedia," in forty-five large quarto volumes. This was fol- 
lowed by the "Edinburgh Encyclopedia" in 1808-1830, 
under the superintendence of Sir David Brewster; the 
"Encyclopaedia Metropolitana " begun in 1815; the 
" London Cyclopaedia," " Lardner's Cyclopaedia," the 
" Penny Cyclopaedia," the " American Cyclopaedia," and 
others, both comprehensive and devoted to special depart- 
ments of knowledge. 

33 



CHAPTER XIII. 

FICTION. 

§ 69. Fiction, like the representation of the actual and 
the real, first appears clothed in song or verse. The first 
romancer, as the first historian, is the bard. Before the age 
of Chaucer, metrical romances were numerous, and contin- 
ued long afterwards to give a prominent character to our 
literature. Indeed, some of our best poets, from Shake- 
speare on to Tennyson, have drawn inspiration and material 
from these old romances. As other species of discourse, 
so this laid aside the shackles of poetry and flourished in 
the ft-eedom of prose. 

Fiction, in its diversified forms and under as diverse 
names — as Apologue, Parable, Fable, Allegory, Romance, 
Novel, Tale, has found a place in almost every body of lit- 
erature. Its objects and uses have been as various. It has 
been employed in illustrating truth, and in enforcing prac- 
tical piety and morality ; in explaining and commending 
sound doctrine, and exposing and ridiculing error ; in ex- 
alting virtue, and satirizing vice ; in pleasing the taste and 
fostering the contemplation and exhibition of the beautiful 
and lovely in art and in manners ; and as well also in 
lashing whatever is rude or uncouth or " ugly in works of 
invention or in social life and habits. 

The earliest considerable prose romance in our literature, 
at least after the "Utopia" of Sir Thomas More, 1480- 
1535, is the "Arcadia," by Sir Philip Sidney, 1554-1586, 
a work very popular in the age of its appearance, but now 
attractive only to the student and the antiquarian. In the 



FICTION. 615 

following century appeared the immortal allegory of John 
Bunyan, 1628-1688, the "Pilgrim's Progress." Of this 
remarkable work, the great critic of these last times, Macau- 
lay, says : " The style of Bunyan is delightful to every 
reader, and invaluable as a study to every person who 
wishes to obtain a wide command over the English lau- 

guage There is no book in our literature on 

which we could so readily stake the fame of the old unpol- 
luted English language ; no book which shows so well how 
rich that language is in its own proper wealth, and how 
little it has been improved by all that it has borrowed. . 
. . . Though there were many clever men in England 
during the latter half of the seventeenth century, there 
were only two great creative minds. One of those n^inds 
produced the ' Paradise Lost,' the other the ' Pilgrim's 
Progress.' " Early in the next century, in 1717, was pub- 
lished another work of fiction almost equally popular and 
enduring, the " Robinson Crusoe " of Daniel De Foe, 1661- 
1731, of which Johnson said: "Nobody ever laid it down 
without wishing it were longer ; " and "Walter Scott long 
after added : " There scarce exists a work so popular as 
' Robinson Crusoe.' " The charm of De Foe is his perfect 
naturalness, appearing in the simplicity and purity of his 
diction and the truthfulness of his characters and his scenes. 
No child, while ravished by the narrative, ever dreamed that 
Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday were other than real 
characters. Eminent among the subsequent writers of fic- 
tion should be enumerated Jonathan Swift, 1667-1745, 
whose " Gulliver's Travels " has received something of 
" Crusoe's " favor. A new species of fictitious writing was 
introduced in the novels of Samuel Richardson, 1689-1761, 
Henry Fielding, 1707-1754, and Tobias George Smollett, 
1721-1771. They are to be regarded as the originators of 
the modern novel. The " Tristram Shandy " of Laurence 
Sterne, the " Rasselas " of Samuel Johnson, and the " Vicar 
of Wakefield " of Oliver Goldsmith, of this same period, 



516 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

are classics in our literature. The age was indeed prolific 
in fictitious composition. It was especially remarkable for 
female authorship. As distinguished writers of fiction we 
find the names of Frances Burney, Sophia and Harriet 
Lee, Mrs. Inchbald, Charlotte Smith, Ann Radcliffe, Mrs. 
Amelia Opie, Anna Maria and Jane Porter, Miss Edge- 
worth, Hannah More, and others. The new age of novel 
writing was ushered in by Sir Walter Scott, 1771-1832, 
already eminent as a poet, by the publication of " Waverley " 
in 1814, followed by that long and wonderful series of ficti- 
tious works, the " Waverley Novels," ending only with the 
decay of the author's life in 1831. This series, character- 
ized by its truthful and able rendering of human experience 
in its various phases, worked with a magical power on the 
minds of readers and authors. He was succeeded by an 
innumerable host of novel-writers ; and the prominent 
characteristic of the following literary period was the pro- 
lific production of novels. Every year has continiied to 
present hundreds of new novels to the insatiate appetite 
for fiction, from an authorship as uncontrollable in its pro- 
pensity towards this kind of lite:*ary creation. The latter 
half of the nineteenth century is the age of fiction. Only 
an infinitesimal portion of this immeasurable accumulation 
can enter into the permanent body of our literature. The 
feeble falls and decays like the foliage of autumn. Of that 
which is truly able, that which like Scott's, like Cooper's, 
has apprehended the healthy, the normal, the abiding in 
human life and manners, will survive ; that which battens 
on the morbid, the carrion in corrupt humanity, must die. 
So, too, that which otherwise deserving illustrates and ex- 
alts, must outlive that which delights preeminently in exag- 
geration, in distortion, in caricature. It were wise and well, 
if readers in selecting, as selection is a necessity in this 
immensity of matter, would take the natural, the normal, 
and the truthful, with wliich real genius deals, rejecting the 
monstrous, the pustulous, and the illusive. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE DRAMA. 

§ 70. The English Drama has both a history and a char- 
acter remarkable and peculiar. Originating in the sacred 
plays founded on Scriptural or religious legends called va- 
riously Miracles and Mysteries, and the moral plays called 
Moralities, so common over Western Europe in the four- 
teenth and fifteenth centuries, it rose almost at a single 
bound in Shakespeare, at the end of the sixteenth, to the 
loftiest heights yet reached by dramatic art, in ancient or 
in modern times. At first, no line of definite demarcation 
was recognized between Comedy and Tragedy. That was 
reckoned as tragic which ended unfortunately. Since the 
time of Shakespeare it is characteristic of the English 
Drama that it has chosen prose for comedy and blank verse 
for tragedy. The essential difference between the two in 
object or aim has been somewhat more fully recognized ; 
the comic, and more especially the subordinate species of 
it, the proper farce, aiming to represent more definitely the 
eccentric, the unreason, the playful and diverting of common 
life ; the tragic, representing the phases of human experi- 
ence in the higher forms of serious rational life. It has 
been observed that the first English dramatists were all 
scholars. 

The earliest comedies appeared about the middle of the 
sixteenth century, preceded a little by the Interludes of 
John Heywood, in single acts and representing real charac- 
ters. " Ralph Roister Doister," by Nicholas Udall, is re- 
garded as the first English comedy. It appeared probably 
a little before 1550. " Gammer Gurton's Needle," attrib- 
uted to John Still, appeared about the same time ; also 



518 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITEEATURE. 

« Misogonus," by Thomas Rychardes. The earliest tragedy 
in English was that of " Gorboduc," otherwise named 
" Ferrex and Porrex," composed by Thomas Sackville, 
assisted perhaps by Thomas Norton, and represented before 
the Queen, January 18, 1562. Two particulars in regard to 
this play are noticeable. First, it was written in blank 
verse, and may be regarded as having fixed for the English 
tragedy, if not for the English epic, this poetic form. In 
the next place, it disregarded the unities of time and place 
which characterized the proper classic drama, and so drew 
upon it the criticism of Sir Philip Sidney, as by this de- 
fect, in his opinion, prevented from being " an exact 
model of all tragedies." Sidney's prediction happily has 
been directly reversed. 

Immediate precursors of Shakespeare were, besides some 
of less note, Christopher Marlowe, 1562-1593, and Robert 
Greene, 1560-1592. Eminent among the numerous drama- 
tists who were contemporaries of Shakespeare were Beau- 
mont and Fletcher, Ben Jonson, Philip Massinger, and John 
Ford. In the seventeenth century appeared also that great 
name in English literature, as poet, critic, and dramatist, 
John Dryden, 1631-1700, who wrote both tragedies and 
comedies ; Thomas Otway, 1651-1685, who has left the two 
fine tragedies of " The Orphan," and " Venice Preserved ; " 
and William Wycherley, 1640-1715, the greatest of the 
comic dramatists of the times. Just at the close of the 
century, William Congreve, 1672-1729, Sir John Vanbrugh, 
1666-1727, and George Farquhar, 1678-1707, entered each 
upon a successful career in comedy, surpassed by none since 
except Oliver Goldsmith, whose comedy, " She Stoops to 
Conquer," sustains the high reputation of this distinguished 
poet and essayist, and Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1751- 
1816, eminent alike in comedy and in oratory. In tragedy, 
the " Douglas " of John Home, 1722-1808, the tragedies of 
Joanna Baillie, 1762-1851, and of James Sheridan Knowles, 
1784-1862, are the most noticeable since the " Venice Pre- 
served " of Otway. 



CHAPTER XV. 

POETRY. 

§ 71. Poetical composition is distributed in respect of 
its subject matter or idea into three general departments, 
according as that idea is one predominantly in the form of 
truth, or of sentiment, or of action. These departments 
are those of Didactic, Elegiac or Lyric, and Epic. 

Of these the epic ranks highest, and generally appears 
first in a literature. As a department, it includes all nar- 
rative poetry ; and ranges from the tale, which is but a 
narration in poetic form, to the proper epic, in which not 
so much the mere event or sequence of incident and achieve- 
ment, as the display of character, is designed by the poet. 

The poetry of action is distributed into the epic and the 
dramatic ; the distinction being this, that in the epic, the 
poet speaks ; in the dramatic, the actor himself 

As the dramatic, § 70, distributes itself into the two 
grand departments of tragedy and comedy, so in the epic, 
we find the two forms of the true heroic and the mock- 
heroic ; the proper epic, which represents the truly great, 
and noble, and worthy in life, and the burlesque, which 
represents the pretentious, the ridiculous, and unworthy. 

The earliest forms of English poetry were narrative, and, 
as adapted to music or not, are known as minstrelsy and 
metrical romance, the minstrelsy preceding. The famous 
" Canterbury Tales " followed the metrical romance ; and 
down through the entire progress of our literature the lower 
epic, that is, the proper narrative, presenting the sequence 
of historic events as governing, rather than the heroic 



520 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

character, has been a favorite and much cultivated form 
of poetic composition. It is worthy of notice that poetic 
genius has in recent times- returned with very marked 
preference to this kind of composition. Eminent in this 
department of our literature, after Chaucer, are George 
Crabbe, 1754-1832; Samuel Rogers, 1762-1855; the 
Ettrick Shepherd, James Hogg, 1772-1835. Here are 
also to be found contributions from many of our best 
poets, especially of the later age, as Wordsworth, Coleridge, 
Southey, Moore, Scott, Byron, Tennyson, and Longfellow. 

Of the higher epic, the " Paradise Lost " is the one poem 
in our literature which challenges rivalry with the greatest 
epics of the world's history. 

In the mock-heroic or bui'lesque, the " Hudibras " of 
Samuel Butler, 1612-1680, stands by itself like the " Par- 
adise Lost," without a rival. 

§ 72. The English elegiac or lyric, the poetry in which 
feeling rules as the governing form of the idea, has, like the 
lower epic, its two forms, as adapted to music or not, — the 
lyric and the proper elegiac. Of the lyric, there are the 
varieties of the ode and the song, and the sacred lyric, 
embracing the psalm and the hymn. To the proper elegiac, 
or that in which the musical element is not made controlling, 
belongs, as a variety, the sonnet, which is determined by the 
form, not by the governing idea. See § 56. 

In elegiac poetry, the English muse has ever delighted ; 
to enumerate her choice creations here would be to cata- 
logue our poets. The sonnet received a prominent culture 
in the earlier stage of our literature ; and Shakespeare, 
Milton, Coleridge, have left the traces of their genius in 
this humbler form of poem. The " Elegy in a Country 
Church- Yard," by Thomas Gray, 1716-1771, is one of the 
most finished poem's in our literature. Among the odes — 
a name, however, here misapplied if implying musical adap- 
tation, — are " Alexander's Feast," by John Dryden, and the 
" Ode on the Passions," by William Collins, 1720-1756, 



POETRY. 521 

particularly to be noticed. In sacred lyric the name of 
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748, stands jDreeminent. Beautiful 
compositions we have in this department from Cowper, 
John Newton, Doddridge, "Wesley, Montgomery, Heber, 
and many others of scarcely inferior merit. 

§ 73. The poetry in which the governing form of idea is 
truth, has a wide range in English literature. It embraces 
the varieties more familiarly but vaguely designated descrip- 
tive, pastoral, and satirical, as well as that more strictly 
denominated didactic. As in the poetry of sentiment, the 
boundaries here are ill-defined ; and the same poem may 
with a certain correctness be indifferently styled either 
descriptive or pastoral, satirical or didactic. Alexander 
Pope, 1688-1744, stands among the highest and among the 
earliest also of English didactic poets. He wrote his fa- 
mous " Essay on Man " and his " Moral Essays " in verse 
and in rhyme for one reason, as he tells us, because he 
could express himself " more shortly in verse than in 
prose." His " Essay on Criticism " also belongs to this 
class. Contemporary with Pope, was Edward Young, 1681- 
1765, author of the " Night Thoughts," a poem which more 
properly belongs here perhaps than elsewhere. Here 
belongs also "• The Seasons " of James Thomson, 1700- 
1748, imperishable as our literature, Mark Akenside, 
1721-1770, at the age of twenty-three, wrote a fine didactic 
poem entitled " The Pleasures of the Imagination," which he 
robbed of somewhat of its warmth and inspiration by a re- 
vision in after-life. To this period belongs " The Travel- 
ler " and "The Deserted Village" of Oliver Goldsmith, 
1728-1774, distinguished alike as essayist, novelist, drama- 
tist, and poet. Later on, the favorite domestic poet, William 
Cowper, 1731-1800, appeal's a genius xmsurpassed in this 
poetic field, as author of the " Task." His " .Tohn Gilpin " 
ranks him equally among the best in humorous poetry and 
his poem " On the Receipt of his Mother s Picture," in 
elegiac verse. Of our more recent poetry no small part 



522 ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE. 

of the most deserving is in this department, exhibiting, in 
common with the other departments, a poetry at last fur- 
nished with the most fully perfected models and exemplars, 
to which, perhaps, the limited genius of man can aspire, 
in all the elements of a perfect literature ; in beauty, 
grandeur, and richness of idea, of poetic form, and of adap- 
tation of form to idea. The further growth and progress 
of our poetry must be rather in the richness of these sev- 
eral aesthetic elements and in the skill and variety of their 
combinations, than in any advance upon what has already 
been attained in any particular element of poetic excellence, 
whether it be idea, form, or rendering. 



CHRONOLOGY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

B. C. 55. Invasion of Britain by Csesar. 
A. D. 449. Anglo-Saxon occupation of England begins. 
832. Danish invasion. 
849. Birtll of Alfred, who died 901. 
1017. Canute, the Dane, King of England. 
1066. Battle of Hastings, William the Conciueror, King. 
1095. First Crusade. 

1214. Roger Bacon born. 

1215. Magna Charta signed at Runnymede. 
1272. Edward I. King of England. 

1295. First English House of Commons ; Mandeville, 1300-1371. 

1307. Edward n. King of England ; Wycliffe, 1.324-1384 ; Barbour, 1326- 
1396. 

1327. Edward III. ; Chaucer, 1328-1400 ; Gower, 1325-1408. 

1377. Richard II. 

1399. Henry IV. 

1413. Henry V. ; Caxton, 1413-1491. 

1422. Henry VI. ; Gutenberg introduces priuting-press in 1438. 

1461. Edward IV. ; Dunbar, 1465-1530; Sir Thomas More, 1480-1535; Tyn- 
dale, 1477-1536 ; Latimer, 1475-1555. 

1483. Edward V. ; Richard III. 

1485. Henry VII. ; Wyatt, 1503-1542. 

1509. Henry VIII.; Surrey, 1516-1547; Cheke, 1514-1557; Haywood, died 
1565; Ascham, 1515-1568; Sack ville, 1536-1608. 

1547. Edward VI. ; Raleigh, 1552-1618. 

1553. Mary ; Sidney, 1554-1586 ; Spenser, 1553-1599 ; Hooker, 1554-1600. 

1558. Elizabeth; Lord Bacon, 1561-1626; Harlow, 1562-1592; Southwell, 
1562-1595 ; Daniel, 1562-1619 ; Shakespeare, 1564^1616 ; Drayton, 
1563-1631 ; Donne, 1573-1631 ; John Fletcher, 1579-1625 ; Beau- 
mont, 1586-1616; Joseph Hall, 1574-1656; Ben Jonson, 1574- 
1637; rhineas Fletcher, 1584-1650; Drummond, 1585-1649; Giles 
Fletcher, 1588-1623; Herrick, 1591-1662; Quarles, 1592-1644; 
Walton, 1593-1683; Herbert, 1593-1623 ; ChiUingworth, 1602-1644; 
Jeremy Taylor, 1602-1667 ; Browne, 1605-1692. 
1603. James I.; Waller, 1605-1687; Fuller, 1608-1661; Milton, 1608-1674; 
Clarendon, 1608-1674; Hale, 1609-1676; Butler, 1612-1680 ; Leigh- 
ton, 1613-1684; Cowley, 1618-1667; Marvell, 1620-1678; Baxter, 
1615-1691; Vaughan, 1621-1695. 

1625. Charles I., executed 1649; Boyle, 1626-1692; Bunyan, 1628-1688; 
Temple, 1628-1698 ; Barrow, 1630-1677; Felltham, died 1678; Til- 
lotson, 1630-1694; Dryden, 1630-1700; Locke, 1632-1704; South, 
1633-1716. 

1651. Charles II. crowned at Scone ; reigns from 1660 ; De Foe, 1661-1731 ; 
Bentley, 1662-1742; Prior, 1665-1721; Swift, 1667-1745; Steele, 
1671-1729; Addison, 1672-1719; Watts, 1674-1748; Arbuthnot, 



524 CHRONOLOGY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 

1675-1735 ; Bolingbroke, 1678-1751 ; Sherlock, 1678-1761 ; ParneU, 
1679-1717; Young, 1681-1765; Middleton, 1683-1750 ; Berkeley, 
1684r-1753. 

1685. James II. ; King, 1685-1763 ; Gay, 1688-1732 ; Pope, 1688-1744. 

1689. William and Mary ; Richardson, 1689-1761; Mary "Wortley Montague, 
1690-1762 ; Byrom, 1691-1763 ; Somerville, 1692-1742 ; Joseph But- 
ler, 1692-1752 ; Robert Blair, 1699-1746 ; Thomson, 1700-1748. 

1702. Anne; Doddridge, 1702-1751; Doddsley, 1703-1764 ; Lord Chatham, 
1708-1778 ; Samuel Johnson, 1709-1784 ; Lowth, 1710-1787 ; Hume, 
1711-1776. 

1714. George I. ; Shenstone, 1714-1763 ; Gray, 1716-1771 ; Elizabeth Carter, 
1717-1806; Hugh Blair, 1718-1800; Hawkes-n'<orth, 1719-1773; 
Collins, 1720-1766; Catherine Talbot, 1720-1770; Mrs. E. Mon- 
tague, 1720-1800 ; Akenside, 1721-1770 ; Robertson, 1721-1793 ; 
Smollet, 1721-1771; Joseph Warton, 1722-1800; Blackstone, 1728- 
1780; Falconer, 1730-1769 ; Burke, 1730-1797 ; Cowper, 1730-1800 ; 
Beattie, 1735-1803 ; Gibbon, 1737-1794 ; Paley, 1743-1805 ; Sir Wil- 
liam Jones, 1746-1794 ; Chatterton, 1752-1770 ; Burns, 1759-1796. 

1727. George II. ; Mrs. Chapone, 1727-1801; Goldsmith, 1728-1774 ; Thomas 
Warton, 1728-1790; Wolcott, 1738-1819; Barbauld, 1743-1825; 
Hannah More, 1745-1823 ; Mackenzie, 1745-1831 ; Charlotte Smith, 
1749-1806; Erskine, 1750-1823; Charles Butler, 1750-1832 ; Crabbe, 
1754-1882; Archibald Alison, 1756-1838; Wilberforce, 1759-1833; 
Brydges, 1762-1837 ; Bowles, 1762-1850 ; Joanna Baillie, 1762-1851 ; 
Rogers, 1762-1855 ; Robert Hall, 1764-1831 ; Eloomfield, 1766-1823 ; 
Maria Edgeworth, 1767-1849; Sydney Smith, 1769-1845; John 
foster, 1770-1843 ; Wordsworth, 1770-1850; Walter Scott, 1771- 
1832 ; James Montgomery, 1771-1854 ; Amelia Opie, 1771-1854 ; 
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1772-1834; James Hogg, 1772-1885 ; Jef- 
frey, 1773-1850 ; Southey, 1774-1843 ; Dick, 1774-1857; Charles Lamb, 
1775-1834; James Smith, 1775-1839; Lander, 1775- ; Camp- 
bell, 1777-1844 ; Thomas Brown, 1778-1820 ; Dayy, 1778-1829 ; Haz- 
litt, 1778-1830 ; Thomas Moore, 1779-1852 ; Brougham, 1779- ; 
Croly, 1780- ; Horace Smith, 1780-1849; Chalmers, 1780-1847; 
Elliott, 1781-1849; Jane Taylor, 1783-1824; Heber, 1783-1826; 
Mitchell, 1783-1845 ; AUan Cunningham, 1784^1842 ; Barton, 1784- 
1849 ; Hunt, 1784r-1859 ; Henry Kirke White, 1785- 1806 ; De Quincey, 
1786- : Lord Byron, 1788-1824 ; John Wilson, 1788-1854 ; Keble, 
1790- ; Wolfe, 1791-1828 ; Milman, 1791- ; Mrs. Hemans, 

1793-1835; Arnold, 1795-1842; Carlyle, 1796- ; Hartley Cole- 
ridge, 1792-1840; Mrs. Jameson, 1797- ; Hood, 1798-1845; 
Moir, 1798-1851; Pollock, 1799-1827; Alaric Watts, 1799- ; 
Macaulay, 1800-1859. 



GLOSSARY. 



Abaist, abashed. 0. T. 38, 137. 
Aboute, about. P. P., 58. 
Aboven, above. Mandeville, 2. 
Abraid, reinoved. C. T., l-M:. 
Ac, but. P. P., 69. 
Acorse, accHrse. P. P., 198. 
Addrest, prepared. J. C, III. i. ; S. 

A., 729. 
Affect, to seek after. Hooker, 7. 
Affraied, afraid. See Versions, 1. 
Affray, affright. See Affraied. 
Altirward. Versions, 7. 
Again, against. C. T., 17. 
Agast, aghast. C. T., 143. 
Ageiii, towards. C. T., 123. 
Ageiiis, against. C. T., 38. 
Agen, again. Mandeville, 3. 
Aghast, F. Q.,I. ix. 21. 
Agreved, grieved. C. T., 64. 
Aim, conjecture. J. C, I. ii. 
Al,aU. P. P., 51; 0. T., 7. 
Alayes, alloys. C. T., 159. 
Albe, albeit. F. Q., I. x. 44. 
Als'A.te, always. O. T., 115. 
AUeies, alleys. F. Q., 1. 1. 7. 
Almayne, Germany. Mandeville, 3. 
AXs,,also. F. Q.,I. ix. 21. 
Also. Versions, 7. 
Am. Versions, 3. 
Amain, mightily., impetuously. S. A., 

627, 1304. 
Amate, destroy. F. Q., I. ix. 45. 
Ameved, moved. C. T., 64. 
Among. Versions, 25. 
Amonges. P.P., 205. 
Amounted, rode away. F. Q., I. ix., 

54. 
An, on, prep. P. P., 26, 255. 
An, indef. art. P. P., 5. 



Ancre.s, anchorites. P. P., 55. 
And. Versions, 3. 
Andvile, anvil. F. Q., I. xi. 42. 
Ansiverid. Versions, 23. 
Apaid, repaid. C. T., 143. 
Ayijarailed, appareled. P. P., 46. 
Apply, ?;/y. F. Q., I. x. 46. 
Appoint, arraigti. S. A., 373. 
Appositees, opposites. Mandeville, 8. 
Apijrebensive, intelligent. J. C, 

111. i. 
ArayA, arrayed. F. Q., I. ix. 23. 
Aread, ^nake known, declare. F. Q., 

I. ix. 23. 
Arn, are. P. P. , 195 ; C. T. , 41. 
Arrace, pull aivay. C. T., 150. 
Arraitle, arrayed. C. T., 31. 
As. Versions, 27. 
AssoiWen, absolve. P. P., 140. 
A.stoned, astonished. C. T., 38. 
Astrolabre. Mandeville, 3. 
As^vownd, in a sivoon. C. T., 147. 
Attonce, at once. F. Q.,I. i. 18; xi. 

53. 
AventaiUe. C. T., 165. 
Avise, ad-vise. C. T., 26. 
Avowes, vows. P. P., 142. 
Avys, advice, direction. Mandeville, 1. 
Atvey, away. P. P., 332. 
Awne, own. Tyndale, 21. 
Axen, ask. Versions, 13. 

Bagges, 6ag-s. P. P., 81. 

Bait, 6ac;fc. C. T.,16. 

Barme, bosojn, lap. C. T., 71. 

Battaille, array or line of battle. J. C.. 
V. i. ' 

Battel, batteill, battle. F. Q., I. xi. 

2; .T. C, V. i. 



526 



GLOSSARY. 



Bay. J. C, III. i. ; IV. i. 

Be, by, prep, denoting relation of condi- 
tion ; also intensiTe prefix. 

Be, T. Versions,!. 

'BeAASeA, befooled. C. T.,163. 

Bedde, feed. P. P., 86. 

Bede, 6/rf. C. T.,44. 

Bef orn, before. Mandeville, 5. 

Beliiglit, entrusted. F. Q., I. xi. 38. 

Beholding. J. C. , III. i. 

Behot, promised. F. Q., I. xi. 38. 

Beighe, ring, necklace. P. P., 321. 

Ben, plu. of be. Versions, 2 ; C. T., 15. 

Beren, bear. P. P., 321. 

Besey, «e«. C. T., 130, 133. 

Be^teAA, bestead, conditioned. F. Q., 
I. i. 24. 

Besy, busy, anxious. C. T., 12. 

Betli, be, plu. imper. of be. C. T., 84. 

Bettre, better. P. P., 62. 

Betwix, betwixt. C. T., 99. 

Bewme, Bohetnia. Mandevillo, 3. 

Bi, be, prep, and intensive prefix. 

BiAAeres, petitio?iers. P. P., 78. 

Bifel, befell. P. P., 11. 

Bif or, before. Versions, 29. 

Biheeld, beheld. P. P., 25. 

Biknoweii, acknowledge. P. P., 407. 

Bileuen, believe. See Versions, 1. 

Bitwene, between. P. P., 34. 

Blaze, blazon. F. Q., I. xi. 7. 

BlereA, bleared. P. P., 148. 

Bllsse, Wcs.s. C.T.,71. 

Blytli, glad. F. Q., I. xi. 4. 

Boistously, boisterously. C. T., 105. 

Bond, bound. F. Q., I. i. 3. 

Bouclied, stopped the mouth. P. P., 
147. 

Bouglite, soinething bowed or bent, a 
fold. F. Q.,I. i. 15; xi. 11. 

'BoxLU.tee, bounty, goodness. C. T.,15. 

Bournes, gen. of bourn, a brook. P. 
P., 16. 

Boy. P. P., 160. 

Brast, burst. C. T., 159; F. Q., I. ix. 
21. 

Breed, bread. P. P., 82. 

Brent, burnt. F. Q., I. xi. 28. 

Brevet, brief warrant. P. P., 147. 

Briddes, birds. C. T., 74. 

Brigandlne, coat of mail. S. A., 1120. 



Broclie, brooch. P. P., 150. 
Brood, broad. P. P., 15. 
Brook, to hear, tolerate. J. C, I. ii. 
Brused, bruised. F. Q., I. xi.l5; S. 

A., 1344. 
Bugge, buy. P. P., 335. 
Bvit, unless. Versions, 6; P. P., 131 ; 

C. T.,17. 
Buxom, yielding. F. Q., I. xi. 37. 
Buxomly, yieldingly , obediently. C. 

T.,19. 
Bynetlie. P. P., 29. 

CaccetU, catcheth. P.P., 384. 

Can, began. F. Q., I. i. 15 ; xi. 23. 

Carlen, care. P. P., 58. 

Caroyne, carrion. P. P., 385. 

Casten, determined. P. P., 233 ; cast, 
C. T., 88. 

Catel, g-oorf5. P. P., 406. 

Cattes, caf5. P. P., 354. 

Centonelle, sentinel. F. Q., I. ix. 41. 

Ceremonies, things pertaining to cere- 
monies, as vestments. J. C. I. i. 
Omens, 3. C. II. i. ; II. ii. 

Certes. C. T., 8. 

Certeyn, certain. Mandeville, 3. 

Cliace, chase. C. T., 41. 

Cliaifare , merchandise , chaffering. P. 
P., 61. 

Chalangen, demand. P. P., 186. 

Cliauffed, chafed. F. Q., I. xi. 15. 

Cliearen, become cheerful. F. Q., I. 
X. 2. 

Qheicev, exchequer. P. P., 185; Task, 
ii. 162. 

CUere, cheer, countenance, mien. C. 
T.,13; F. Q., I. i. 2. 

Cliese, c/joo5e. C. T.,11, 14. 

Clieveden, achieved, succeeded. P. 
P., 62. 

Cliiclievaclie. C. T.,162. 

Cite, cily. P. P., 320. 

Cleane, entirely. J. C.. I. iii. 

Clepe, V. to call, name, plu. clepen, pret. 
c?fpi,part. clept and y-clept. Mande- 
ville, 1. 

Clergially, clerically, learnedly. P. P., 
248. 

Clouclies, clutches. P.P., 308. 

Cofre, coffer, chest. C. T., 76. 



GLOSSAEY. 



527 



Collation, conference. C. T., 39. 
ComauMidemeiitis Versions, 15. 

Come. Versions, 3. Comen, P. P., 48. 
. Coinpas, circle. Mandeville. 

Compleat, complete. Hooker, § 16. 

Condiiyt, conduct, guidance. Mande- 
ville, 7. 

Confynyes, confines. Mandeville, 10. 

Coniien, hnow. C. T., 81. 

Consistory, a council, place of meet- 
ing of officers of state, tribunal. P. P., 
197. 

Construwed, construed. P. P., 122. 

Contenaunce, appearance. P. P., 47. 

Contree, country. P. P., 57 ; Mande- 
ville; C. T., 1. 

Contrefete, counterfeit. C. T., 99. 

Contreved, contrived. P. P., 235. 

Conynges, rabbits. P. P., 384. 

Copes, hoods. P. P., 111. 

Coroiine, crown. C. T., 47. 

Coiiiifortoux, comforter. Versions, 
16. 

Countertaille, counter-tally. C. T., 
163. 

Coveiten, covet. P. P., 57. 

Coveitise, greedy desire. P. P., 121. 

Cowde, could. Mandeville, 14. 

Cownt, recount. Mandeville, 10. 

Cvacetien, scratch. P. P., 307. 

Crall, crawl. F. Q., I. i. 22. 

Crist, C/irist. P. P., 175. 

Crois, croM. C. T., 72. 

Cropen, crept. P. P., 370. 

CmAle A, curdled. F. Q., I. ix. 52. 

Cure, charge, care. P. P., 175 ; C. T., 4. 

Daint, dainty. F. Q., I. x. 2; I. xi. 

48. 
Damuifyde, injured. F. Q., I. xi. 52. 
Danger, harm. J. C, 11. i. 
Dar, dare. P. P., 304. 
Day. Versions, 20. 
Daze, to dull, .'stupefy. F. Q., I. i. 18. 
Dear, sorely. J. C.,III. ii. 
Dearer, worse. J. C, III. i. 
Deawed, bedewed. F. Q., I. xi. 48. 
Degised, disguised. P. P., 48. 
J)eiA, died. C. T., 144. 
Deintee, dainty, worthy. C. T., 151. 
Delit, delight. C. T., 2. 



Delitable, delightful. C. T., 1. 
XtertLGxi, judge. P. P., 192. 
Depart, divide, separate. Mandeville, 

15; C. T.,81. 
Depe, rfeep. P. P., 31. 
J)orli.G,dark. P. P., 31. 
Despitously, pitilessly. See Pitoits. 

C. T., 69. 
Destruyeth, destroy. P. P., 44. 
Devised, divided. Mandeville, 15. 
Devoir, duty. G. T., 130 ; Elaine, 119. 
Dew, due. F. Q., I. ix. 29. 
Diclies, ditches. P.P., 31. 
J)iffsixa.e, bad reptite. C. T., 70. 
Diglit, put in order. C. T., 132 ; F. Q., 

I. xi. 9. 
Disaventures, mishaps. F. Q., I. 

ix. 45. 
Disgest, digest. J. C, I. ii. 
Displaide, displayed. F. Q., I. i. 14. 
Distraught, distracted. F. Q., I. ix. 

38. 
Divelisli, devilish. F. Q., I. ix. 53. 
Doitli. Versions, 10. 
Dolours, griefs. F. Q., I. xi. 27. 
Don, do. 0. T., 7; Mandeville, 1. 
Dongeon, dungeon; Fr. dongeon or 

donjon. P. P., 30. 
Doon, done. P. P., 195. 
Dorste, durst. P. P., 353. 
Dost, doest. J. C, I. i. 
Doun, down. C. T., 1. 
Dowair, doiver. C. T., 114. 
Drad, dreaded. C. T., 2. 
Drede, dread. Versions, 1; P. P., 196. 
Dredfulle, dreadful. P. P., 32. 
Dreriment, distress. F. Q., I. xi. 32. 
J)r esse, direct 7ny self. C. T., 130. 
JirixeV A, let fallin drops. J. C.,II. ii. 
Dure, endure. C. T., 110. 
Dwellyngis. Versions, 2. 

Eame, yearn. F. Q.,1. 1. 3. 
Earst, erst, before. F. Q., I. ix. 29; 

S. A., 339. 
Ecli, eclie, each. P. P., 101 ; C. T., 

10. 
Eest, east. P. P., 25. 
lEffmiAe, frightened. F. Q., I. i. 16. 
Eft, afterwards, again. F. Q., I. ix. 

25. 



528 



GLOSSARY. 



iEftsoxie, eftsoones, again, forth- 
with, iminediately. Versions, 3 ; F. Q., 
I. i. 11. 

EgaUe, equal. Mandeville, 4. 

Eighen, eyes. P. P., 148. 

Elie, a/io. G. T.,4, 27. 

Eienge, aiYmg-. P. P., S78. 

Ellis, eise. Versions, 11 ; P. P., 182. 

Emboss, cover, hide. i\ Q., I. xi. 20. 

Emlbost, covered, overwhelmed. F. Q., 
I. ix. 29. 

Emboyled, chafed. F. Q., I. xi. 28. 

Endevor, endeavor. S. A., 766- 

Enforst. F. Q., I. i. 7. 

Eiifouldred, inixed with lightning. 
F. Q., I. xi. 40. 

Enliaiuist, raised. F. Q., I. i. 17- 

Enqiiere, inquire. C. T., 102; F. Q., 
I. X. 56. 

Ense-^veii, ensue. F. Q., I. ix. 44. 

Enteut, intent. C. T., 11. 

Enteiitifly, attentively. C. T., 40. 

Eiiti-aile,/oZrf. F. Q.,I. i. 16. 

Entreat, treat. F. Q., I. x. 7. 

Enveigliiig, inveigling. Hoolser, 7. 

Er, ere, formerly. C. T., 13, 84. 

Eris, ea«. C. T., 6 ; P. P., 156. 

Erst, ftp/ore. C, T.,40. 

E vigil, j/f 10. F. Q.,I. i. 9. 

Ever. Versions, 13. 

EvericU, every one. C. T., 10, 138. 

Ewglieii, of yew. F. Q., I. xi. 19. 

Ejus, neiv fledged. 1?. Q., I. xi. 34. 

Eyeii, eyiie, eyes. C. T., 26; F. Q., 
I. ix. 35. 

Eyr,air. P. P., 255. 

Eactious, active. J. C, I. iii. 

JTiiiiiXjfather. Versions, 2. 

Eaiii, fayn, glad. F. Q., I. i. 6; C. 

T.,32. 
Fairye, illusion. P. P., 12. 
Vaiteaen, begged. P. P., 83. 
Ealsliede, /aZse/ioorf. P. P., 141. 
Eane, a iveathercock, a vane. C. T., 135. 
rare,§-fme. C. T., 120. 
Favor, countenance. J. C, I. ii. 
"Fny, faith. C. T., 140. 
-^celA, field. P. P., 34. 
VeU\eA, feigned. C. T., 66. 
Felawes, companions. G. T., 33. 



Tele, many. C. T., 123. 
Fer,/a?-. Mandeville, 4; C. T., 21. 
FevAe, feared. C. T., 144. 
Fere, companion. In fere, as com- 
panion, in company. C. T., 151; F. 

Q.,I. X.4. 
Ferl5', a strange thing. P. P., 11, 129. 
Fette, fetched. C. T., 35. 
Fayiieii,ye(g-ra. P. P., 71. 
Flaggy, drooping. F. Q., I. xi. 10. 
Fleariiig, trifling. J. C, I. iii. 
Fl^tlx, fleeth. C. T.,9. 
Flockmel, in troops. C. T., 5. 
FlovLve, flourish. C. T., 10. 
Folli. P. P., 33. 
Foiiiiiig, foaming. F. Q., I. i. 1. 
Fond, /oOTirf. P. P., 34,115; J. C, 

III. i. 
Fond, foolish. F. Q., I. ix. 89. 
Fond, to be eager. C. T., 33. 
For. Versions, 3. 
Forbede, forbid. C. 0?., 12. 
Foreby, near by. F. Q., I. x. 36. 
Xfoi'eyn, foreign. Mandeville. 
Fox'sotl'ie, forsooth, truly. Versions, 

28. 
Fortliere, yjfr^/ier. Mandeville, 3. 
For- till, tlierefore. P. P., 221, 262. 
For-»vandred, comi). of for, forth, 

and ivandered. P. P., 18. 
For-\vasted, wasted. F. Q., I. i. 5; 

xi. 1. 
For'tvearled, wearied out. F. Q., I. 

xi. 45. 
Foryelde, repay. 0. T.,111. 
Foryeve,/brg-2Y-e. 0. T., 65. 
Francldin, a country gentleman. F. 

Q.,I. X. 6. 
Freeletee, frailty. C. T., 158. 
Freres, friars; l'r.freres,ha.t.fratres, 

brothers. P. P., 115. 
Fret. J.C.,n. i. 
Fro, from. Mandeville. 

Gage, pledge, prize. F. Q., I. xi. 41. 
Gamen, game, sport. P. P., 305. 
Gan, began, past tense of gin. P. P., 

21,285; F. Q.,I. ix. 50. 
Gent, gentle. F. Q., I. ix. 27. 
GentiJlesse, kindness. C. T., 6. 
Gentils, i^eople. C. T., 61. 



GLOSSARY. 



529 



Gere, gear. C.T.,46. 

Gest, achievement. F. Q., I. x. 15. 

Gest, gtiest. C. T.,41, 138. 

Gie, guide. C. T.,3. 

Giltless, guiltless. P. P., 68. 

Gin, begin. F. Q., I. i. 21. 

Giusts, jousts or justs. F. Q., I. i. 1. 

Glooming, gloaming. ¥. Q., I. i. 14. 

Glosed, interpreted, glozed. P. P., 119. 

Glotonye, gluttony. P. P., 44. 

Go. Versions, 3; P. P., 21. 

Goist, goest. 

Goliardeis, parasite. P. P., 277. 

Goost, ghost. Versions, 26. 

Gos,t, spirit. C. T., 125. 

Gotten. Hooker, § 7. 

Grate, chafe. F. Q., I. i. 19. 

Grave, iwry. C. T.,90. 

Gree, good heart. C. T., 157. 

Grate, great. P. P., 109. 

Gxette, greeted. 0. T., 128. 

Gretter, greater. Versions, 12. 

Greved, grieved. P. P., 277. 

Griesie, greasy. F. Q., I. ix. 35. 

Griesly, grisly. F. Q., I. ix. 21. 

Grucche, grudge. P. P., 305. 

Grutch, grudge. C. T., 17. 

Habergeon, defense for the neck. S. 

A., 1120. 
Hability, ability. Hooker. See Hable. 
Hable, able, suitable, proper. F. Q., I. 

X. 45 ; I. xi. 19. 
Habundant, abounding. C. T., 1. 
Habundance, aiMjtcfance. C. T.,21. 
Hadde, had. Versions, 2. For use as 

a conditional followed by infinitive, as 

had rather go, etc., see Versions, 7. 
ECalfondelle, sem,i - circumference. 

Mandeville, 5. 
Hals, neck. P. P., 355. 
Han, 3 plu. of have. Versions, 7 ; P. 

P., 73. 
Happ, hap. MandeviUe, 14. 
Hardiment, hardinesse, boldness. 

F. Q.,I. 1. 14; C. T.,6. 
Hardy, bold. 

Haughtie, lofty. F. Q., I. xl. 7. 
Heep, Acap. P. P., 105. 
Hefte, rai<:ed. F. Q., I. xi. 39. 
Heglite, hight. Mandeyille, 3. 



'H.eisn, htg/i. P. P., 26. 
Hem. them. P. P., 39 ; C. T., 5. 
Hemselves, themselves. P. P., 118. 
Hennes, hence. Versions, 31. 
Hent, seized. 0. T., 69, 89. 
Hevhersnge, pasture. C. T.,21. 
Herde, heard. Versions, 24. 
Here, hear. P. P., 8. 
Here, her a,nA their. P. P. ,55; Mande- 
viUe, 1, 8. 
Heremite, Aenni*. P. P., 5. 
Heres, hairs. C. T., 47. 
Herte, heart. Versions, 1. 
Hertly, hearty. 0. T., 18. 
Hery, praise. 0. T., 80. 
Hest, behest, command. G. T. , 11. 
Hevene, heaven. P. P., 54. 
Hie, Aig-A. C. T., 52. Hasten, J. C, I. 

ili. 
Hight, bigbte, bade. P. P., 204. 

Is called, C. T., 1. Promised, G. T., 63. 
Hii, they. P. P., 131. 
Silles, hills. P. P., 9. 
Him, him and it; A.-S. dat. masc. and 

neut. of 3 pers. pron. MandeviUe, 1. 
Hir, their. C. T., 13, 47, 75. Her, 

C. T., 75. 
Hire, their. P. P., 56. Her, C. T., 47, 

105. 
His, his and its ; Old gen. masc. and 

neut. of 3 pers. pron. C.T.,132; F, 

Q.,I. xi. 38; J. C.,I. u.;II. i. 
Hoked, hooked. P. P., 106. 
Hole, lohole. C. T., 115. 
Holi, holy. Versions, 26. 
Holt, holds. Mandeville, 7, 14. 
Honest, reputable, honorable. C. T., 

40; J. C.,ni. i. 
Honestetee, repute. C. T., 53. 
Honesty, honor. J. C, II. i. 
Hong, hung. F. Q., I. xi. 43. 
Hot, ivas called. See Hight. F. Q., I. 

xi. 29. 
Hou, how. Versions, 5. 
Hous, house. Versions, 3. 
Howt, hoot. 3. C, I. ii. 
Humane, human. Hooker, 7. 
Humblesse, humility. C. T., 126. 
Hurtled, clashed. J. C, II. ii. 
Hym. Versions, 5. 
Hyne, servant, hind. P. P., 78. 



630 



GLOSSARY. 



I, aye. J. C, I. ii. 

I, in. C. T., 143. 

If, A.-S. gi/, originally imp. of gif-an, to 

give. Versions, 2. 
-ne,ru. J.C, I. ii. 
Imtoattel'd, embattled, set in array. 

S. A., 129. 
Importable, unbearable. C. T., 156. 
Importune, urgent. F. Q., I. xi. 53. 
Innocents, intellectual imbeciles. 

Hooker, § 6. 
Intended, stretched out. F. Q., I. xi. 

38. 
l.oie,joy. Versionfs, 28. 

^aiie, a small coin. C. T., 135. 
Jart-S^leres, praters. P. P., 69. 
Jajieves, jesters. P. P., 69. 
Jigging, making low poetry. J. C, 

IV. iii. 
Jolly. F. Q., I. i. 1. 
Joiirnall, daily. F. Q., I. xi. 31. 
Jugge, judge. P. P., 259. 

Kaughte, caught. P. P., 214. 

Keepe. Versions, 15. 

Kempt, coOTfccrf. C. T., 47. 

Kepe, /leerf. C. T., 144. 

Kest, cast. F. Q., I. xi. 31. 

Kind, nature. J. C, I. iii. 

Kitone, kitten. P. P., 377. 

Knelynge, kneeling. P. P., 145. 

Kncwe. Versions, 7. 

KnoAvleclie, acquaintance, knowl- 
edge. Mandeville, 11. 

Knyghtliod, knighthood. P. P., 224. 

Knytten, knit, bind. P. P., 337. 

Konne, know, have skill in, be able. 
P. P., 66. 

Koude, kneiv. P. P., 258. 

Kovitlie, knoiv. P. P., 362. 

Kynde, natural. P.P., 227, 236. 

Kyngriclie, kingdom. P. P., 250. 

I,adde, led. P. P., 224. 
J.a.ike, play. P. P., 341. 
Ijangage, language. Mandeville, 11. 
Lias^ie, lazy. F. Q., I. i. 6. 

Iiasse, iess; A.-S. Ixs, coinp. of lytel. 
Versions, 2. 



Lat, late, let. P. P., 310 ; MandeviUe, 

16. 
Least, Ze5«. F. Q.,I. i. 12; J.C.,I1. i. 
Leaute, loyalty. P. P., 243. 
Leeve, leve, believe. P. P., 68, 143. 
Lef e, beloved, dear. C. T., 61. 
Leide, laid. C. T., 71. 
Iieisei', leisure. C. T., 33. 
Iieman, lover. F. Q., 1. 1. 6. 
Lene, grant. P. P., 251. 
tenede, leaned. P. P., 17. 
Lenger, ZoMg-e/. C. T., 35; F. Q., I. 

i. 22. 
I.est, least. C. T., 74. 
Lest, pleases. C. T., 7. Wish, C. T., 

81. 
XiCt, hinder. Elaine, 95. 
Lette, hindrance. C. T., 35. 
Lettrure, learning, scripture. P. P., 

219. 
Leve, leave. Versions, 18. 
Leved, believed. P. P., 143. 
Lever, rather. C. T., 56. See Lefe, 

above^ F. Q., I. ix. 32. 
Lewed, unlearned, lay. P. P., 143. 
Liable, subject. J. C, II. ii. 
Jjiete, gladly. J. C.,I. ii. See Lefe. 
I^itlotle, mode of life. P. P., 59. 
Liggen, Zi'e. P. P., 181. 
Hif. Versions, 6. 
Likame, iorfy. P. P., 60. 
Lilted, seemed. P. P., 120. 
Likelylied , likelihood. C. T. , 56. 
Jjikerous, voliq7tuous. P. P., 59; C. 

T., 23. • 
Lilcetli, pleaseth. C. T., 8, 37. 
Limmes, limbs. C. T., 91. 
Lin, give way. F. Q., I. i. 24. 
X.ite, little. C. T.,126. 
Litli, lieth. C. T., 64. 
Litil, little. Versions, 19. 
Lobies, lubbers. P. P., 109. 
1.oke,look. P. P., 342. Loked. P. 

P., 18. 
Long. Versions, 19. 
Lord. Versions, 5. 
Lorn, lost. C. T., 145. 
Losels, vagabonds. P. P., 153. 
Lotlie, loth. P. P., 110, 309; C. T., 

44. 
Lout, stoop, bow. F. Q., I. X. 44. 



GLOSSARY. 



531 



liOven. Versions, 15. 
liovye, subj. of love. P. P. 262. 
Iiovped, bent, condescended. P. P., 

257. 
IliUSt, vigor, wish, pleasure. C.T. 
Iiusty, vigorous, fruitful. C. T., 1 ; 

J. C.,I. u. 
Lyeii, Zte. P. P., 97. 
L.yve, live. Versions, 19. Iiyvedeii. 

P. P., 62. 

Maistre, master. P. P., 123; J. C, 

III. ii. 
Maistresse, mistress. C. T., 110. 
Make. Versions, 3 ; Elaine, 1004. 
Malted, made. C. T.,63. 
Manasetli, menaces, threatens. C. T., 

10. 
Manere, manner, kind. P. P., 35; 

C. T., 45. 
Many. Versions, 2. Manye. P.P., 

60. 
M.ii,vch.anxiAix,e, merchandise. P. P., 

125. 
Marclies, boundaries, territories. P. 

P., 126; Mandeville, 11. 
Marfcis, marquis. C. T.,2. 
May, is a We. Versions, 17; Mandeyille, 

1. 
Maze, wonder. P. P., 390. 
ma, self. J. C.,I. ii. 
Mealtli, melteth. F. Q., I. ix. 31. 
Meeiie, Tnean, poor. P. P., 36. 
Mees,mice. P. P., 293. 
Meeven, move. Mandeville. See 

Freve. 
Wtere, pool, lake. Elaine, 1415. 
Mervaille, marvel. C. T., 28. 
Merveilloiis, marvelous. P. P., 22. 
Mescliief , mischief. P. P. , 133. 
Message, messenger. C. T., 98. 
Messe, mass. P. P., 193. 
Mes.t, most. C. T., 11. 
Mesured, m.easured. Mandeville, 3. 
Metels, dream. P. P., 414. 
Meten, 7neet, experience . P. P., 21. 
Meve, Meeven, move. Mandeville, 

3. See Freve. 
Miglitie, mighty. F. Q., I. i. 1. 
Minislit, diminished. F. Q., I. xi. 43. 
Mister. F. Q., I. ix. 23. 



Mo, me. C. T., 141. 

Mo, Moe, more. P. P. 294; Mande- 

vUle, 4 ; O. T., 38 ; F. Q., I. i. 44 ; J. 

C, II. i. 
Mocliel, m,uch. Mandeville, 4. 
Moder, m.other. C. T., 73. 
'^loiae, earth. P. P., 133. 
Monele, money. P. P., 125.' 
Moore, more. P. P., 103. 
Mooste, »705i. P. P., 133. 
Morweiiynge, ■tnorning. P. P., 9. 
m.oste!,must. C.T.,13. 
Mote, must. C. T.,17, 60, 72. May, 

might, F. Q.,I. ix. 27. 
Moun, inay, can. Versions, 5. 
Mow, may. C. T., 6. 
Moweii, ??2ay. P. P., 342. 
Mucliel, OTKc/t. P. P., 401- 
MiirtUes, entertainments . P. P., 65. 
Murye, merry. P. P., 20. 
Myd, with. P. P., 293. 
Myddes, m,idst. Mandeville, 9. 
Myghte, might. P. P., 139, 331. 
Mynstralles, minstrels. P. P., 06. 

Name. Versions, 26. 

Namely, particularly . C. T., 62. 

N'as, tvas not. C. T., 50. 

Nat, not. P. P., 76. ; C. T., 6. 

Natlieles, not the les.t, 7ievertheless. 
Mandeville, 14; Wye, Jolin iv. 27. 

Natliemore, none the more. F. Q., I, 
ix. 25. 

Nauglity, good for nothing. J. C, I. i. 

Ne, not, nor. Versions, 1 ; Mande- 
ville, 1. 

NelgU, wig-A. C. T.,4. 

Nere, were not. P. P., 396. 

Nelle, nill, be unwilling. P. P., 218. 

Netlier, neither. Versions, 17. 

Neven, name. C. T., 79. 

Nevere, never. P. P., 24. 

Nie, nigh. C. T., 82. 

Nlll, N'ill, loill not. C. T., 86. 

Nis, n'is, is not. C. T., 45. 

Noblesse, Nolbley, nobility, distinc- 
tion. C. T., 59, 111. 

Noglit, not anything, not at all, not. 
P. P., 57. 

Nolde, N'old, would not. P. P., 407 ; 
C. T.,4. 



532 



GLOSSARY. 



Norice, nvrse. C. T., 73. 
Nosethrill, nostril. F. Q., I. xi. 22. 
Not. See Versions, 1. 
Nother, neither. C. T., 124. 
Nouches, jeweled ornaments. C. T. , 

47. 
Now. Versions, 19. 
Noyance, annoyance. F. Q., I. i. 23. 
Noyd, annoyed. F. Q., I. xi. 45. 
Noyous, noxious. F. Q., I. xi. 50. 

O, one. Mandeville, 2. 

Of, off. C. T., 76. 

Ofter, ag-am. G. T., 81. 

O-lofte, aloft. See n. P. P., 313. 

On, one. C. T.,5,23. 

Ones, once. P. P., 292. 

On life, alive, exceedingly. C. T., 12. 

On lof t, aZo/i;. 0. T.,25. 

Ony, any. Versions, 2. C. T., 60. 

Ope, open. J. C, I. ii. 

Or, ere. C.T., 18,36. Task, V. 765. 

Or, either. Task, V. 805. 

Ought, aught. 0. T., 4; F. Q., I. i. 

14; S. A.,376. 
OutUer, other, either, or. P. P., 327; 

Mandeville, 13. 
Outraie, be excessive. C. T., 84. 
Overcraw, crow over. F. Q., I. ix. 

50. 
Overleap. P. P., 299. 
Oxes. C. T.,22. 

'Pa,ce,pass. C. T., 148. 
Paleis, palace. 0. T.,21. 
FaJmevBB, pilgrims. P. P., 91. 
Palter. J. C.,1I. i. 
Paraventure, by chance, peradven- 

ture. 0. T., 26. 
Parbreake, vomit. F. Q., 1. 1. 20. 
Parfitly, perfectly. C. T., 91. 
Parisshe, ;)am/i. P. P., 161. 
Parten, depart. Mandeville, 10. 
YeereTo., appear. P. P., 243. 
Pees, peace. Versions, 27; C. T., 53. 
Penible, painstaking. 0. T., 94. 
Peple,peo;)Ze. P. P., 117; C. T., 5, 8, 

45. 
Perceal>le,pierceaWe. F. Q., I. i. 7. 
'Pevceysre, perceive. Mandeville, 2. 
Perfitely, perfectly. Mandeville, 14. 



Persaunt, /ii«-ctwg-. F. Q., I. x. 47. 
VevswsiAe, persuade. F. Q., I ix. 29. 
Peyrefulle, ivearing. Mandeville, 12. 
Piglit, fixed, pitched. F. Q., I. xi. 25, 

43. 
'PisteXl, epistle. C. T.,157. 
Vitee, pity. C. T.,13. 
FltovLS, piteous, sorrowful. C. T., 6. 
Place. Versions, 3. 
Plaine, cowipZam. C. T.,83. 
'PleiAew, played. P. P., 40. 
VleiJke, full. C.T., 125. 
Plese, please. P. P., 60. 
Plesance, satisfaction, pleasure. 0. 

T., 64, 129. 
Pleyned, bewailed. P. P., 166. 
Plie, bend. C. T., 159. 
Pligliten, pledge. P. P., 92. 
PIowglie,p/oMg'/j. Mandeville, 11. 
Points, appoints. F. Q., I. ix. 41. 
Poraiile, poor. P. P., 163. 
Possed, pushed. P. P., 302. 
'Poviixc.es, claws. F. Q., I. xi. 19. 
Povere, poo?-. P. P., 167. 
Poyse, weight, force. F. Q. , I. xi. 54. 
Pray, prey. F. Q., I. xi. 9. 
Preest, priest. P. P., 161. 
Vreie, proof. C. T.,105. 
Preie. Versions, 16. 
'Pveixes, prayers. P. P., 49. 
Prestre John. Mandeville, 9. 
Prevent, anticipate. 3. C, II. i, 
VrieU., spur. F. Q., I. i. 1. 
Prik&e, sting, goad, prick. C. T., 

141. 
Preve, Preven, prove. P. P., 76; 

Mandeville. 
Proceeding, advancement. J. C, 

II. ii. 
Prof re, proffer. C. T. , 114. 
Psauterie, psalter. Mandeville, 9. 
Purvay, provide. C. T., 20. 
Fntten, put. P. P., 39. 
Pyned, wasted. F. Q., I. x. 48. 

Quiclce, lively, alive. J. C, I. ii. 
Quites, repays. F. Q., I. x. 15 
Quod, said. P. P., 320 ; C. T., 13. 

Raft, cut off, torn away F. Q., I. i, 
24 ; ix. 26. 



GLOSSARY. 



533 



Baseman. P. P., 149. 

'Rancling, rankling. F. Q.,I. xi. 38 

Batlie, early, soon. Elaine^ 339. 

Batons, raZs. P. P., 292. 

Bauglit, reached. P. P., 149; F. Q., 
I. ix. 51. 

Bavin, prey. P. Q., I. xi. 12. 

'Read., counsel, advise. P. Q., I. i. 13. 

Beal, Beally, royal, royally. C. T., 
31, 53. 

Beasons, established modes, rules. J. 
C, I. iii. 

Beaume, realm. P. P., 352. 

Bebutted, thrust back. P. Q., I. xi. 
53. 

Beccheles, reckless, indifferent. C. T., 
62. 

IRecrtreA, recovered. P. Q.,I. x. 52. 

Bede, counsel. C. T., 86, 108. See 
Read. 

Bedi, Bedy, ready. Versions, 3; C. 
T.,2. 

Bedye, bring back. Mandeville, 14. 

Beed, discover. P. Q., I. i. 21. 

Beherced, rehearsed. P. P., 366. 

Belived, restored to life. P. Q., I. ix. 
52. 

Bender, throw back. J. C, 11. ii. 

Benk, ma7i. P. P., 382. 

Benne, rtm. P. P., 332. 

Benowmed, renowned. P. Q., I. 
xi. 2. 

Bepeal, recall, J. C, III. i. 

Bepriefe, reproof. F. Q., I. ix. 29. 

Bepreve, reprove. Mandeville, 15. 

Besolve, show, explain, release from 
doubt. J C, in. i. ; III. ii. 

Besoun, reason. Mandeville, 13. 

Bespect, repute, esteem. J. C, I. ii. 

Beste, resZ. P.P., 14. 

Betrate, retreat. P. Q., I. i. 13 

Betyrd, drawn back. P. Q., I. xi. 53. 

Beule,n«Ze. C. T., 39. 

Bibaudie, ribaldry. P. P., 87. 

Bichesse, riches. C. T., 127. 

Biglit, adv. just. C. T., 1 ; Mande- 
ville, 1. 

Bigbte, adj. upright, erect. Mande- 
ville, 13. 

Boberdes knaves. P. P., 88. 

Bombel, rumble, rumor. C. T., 135. 



Bote, root. C. T., 1. 
Bought, recked, cared. C. T., SO. 
Bout, co??jpaM2/. J. C.,I. ii. 
Eoute, irruption. P. P., 291. 
Boutlie, ruth, grief. C. T., 73. 
Byt, ride. P. P., 339. 

Sad, constant, firm, set. C. T., 24 ; P. 

Q., I. X. 7. 
Sadness, constancy. C. T., 57. 
Saf , save. Mandeville, 6. 
Samite, a silk fabric. Elaine, 437, 1140. 
Sauf , save. C. T., 3. 
Say, sees. C. T., 88. 
Scaur, cliff. Elaine, 54. 
Sclial, shall. Versions, 3. 
Schapp, shape. Mandeville. 
Sclievve, show. Versions, 8. 
Scliiide, shield. C. T., 112. 
Scliuln, Schulle, shall. Versions, 7. 
Scare, scorching. P. Q., I. xi. 13. 
Segges, 7nen. P. P., 319. 
Seid, said. Versions, 2. 
SeigU, saw. P. P., 27, 99. 
Seitli, saith. 
Seld, Selde, Selden,se?do»n. P.P., 

40 ; C. T., 13. 
Seles, sfftZs. P. P., 138. 
Selles, ceKs. P. P., 56. 
Sely, good, happy, fortunate. C. T., 

127. 
Serche, search. Mandeville, 10. 
Servauntz, servants. P. P., 189. 
Seson, seyson, season. P. P., 1; 

Mandeville, 11. 
SewetU, folloiv. P. P., 90. 
Sey, see. C. T., 152. 
Seye, say. P. P., 103. 
Seysons, seasons. Mandeville, 11. 
Slieep, a sheep, a shepherd. P. P., 4. 
Slierewe, shrew. P. P., 391. 
Sbette, shut. P. P., 210. 
Shewe, show. P. P., 212. Shewing, 

Hooker, § 5. 
Sbieldes, scales. P. Q.,I. xi. 11. 
Sbilde, shield. C. T., 112. 
Sbolde, should. Versions, 7; P. P. 

157. 
Slionye, shun. P. P., 347. 
SiiooTp, shaped. P. P., 3. The plu. iB 

shopen. P. P., 113,243. 



534 



GLOSSARY. 



Sliope, shaped. C. T., 21, 121. 

Shrewd. J. C, 11. i. 

Sliryve, i/in-ue. P. P., 128. 

Sliyre, a district, shire. F. Q., I. xi. 14. 

Siglite, s?gA«. P. P., 32. 

Silted, sighed. C. T., 70. 

SUs.(ily, sorrowfully. C. T.,82. 

Siiserly, certainly. C. T., 19. 

Silf, self. Versions, 3. 

Sin, since. C. T., 42. 

Sit, is suitable, becomes. C. T., 57, 129. 

Sitlie, Sitlieu, Sitlieiis, Sitlience, 

time, since. P. P., 127, 255 ; Mande- 

ville, 16 ; C. T., 26 ; Hooker, 5, 6. 
Slal£e,/ai7. C. T., 12. 
Sletli, slayeth. C. T., 82. 
Sleiitlie, sloth. P. P., 89. 
^lovahTeA, slumbered. P. P., 19. 
^■tXLXt, smiles. C. T., 10. 
So. Versions, 9. 
Softe. P. P., 2. 
Somdel, somewhat, partly. 0. T., 

137. 
Somer, summer. P. P., 1; F. Q., I. 

i. 7. 
Somiiie,some. P. P., 45. 
Sonne, sun. P. P., 2. 
Sooth, truth. P. P., 103; J. C, II. 

iv. 
Sor'we, sorrow. P. P., 389. 
Sothfastnesse, truth. C. T., 106. 
Sothli Sothly, truly. Versions, 7 ", 

C. T.,91. 
Sotyle, subtile, subtle. Mandeville, 2. 
Speche. P. P., 104. 
Speke, speak. Versions, 10. 
S^iW, spoil. C.T.,64. 
Spright, spirit. F. Q., 1 x. 47; R. L. 

i. 59. 
Spurn. J. C.,II. i. 
Stale, inalce vapid or insipid, or treat 

as such. J. C, I. ii; IV. i. 
Staves. P. P., 106. 
Stede, stead. P. P., 191. 
Stent, stinted. C. T., 39. 
Sterre, star. MandeviUe, 1. 
Stint, be loeary. C. T., 93. 
Stound, space of time. C. T., 149 ; F. 

Q.,I. xi. 36. 
Streghte, strait, directly, exactly. 

MandeviUe, 7. 



^tren, stoch,linea-ge. C. T.,15. Strain, 

J. C, V. i. 
Strejte, strictly. P. P., 52. 
Streyves, estrays. P. P., 188. 
Stroii.e, struc/c. F. Q.,I. i, 24. 
Stye, rise. A.-S. stigan, to ascend, to 

mount. F. Q., I. xi. 25. 
Styward, steivard. P. P. , 191. 
Siiccesse, result. J. C, II. ii. 
Siiddeine, sudden. F. Q., I. i. 6. 
Snfficith, suffice.th. Versions, 8. 
Suflisance, sufficiency. C. T., 101. 
Suffisant, sufficient. C. T. , 130. 
Siiggetes, subjects. C. T., 61. 
Superficialitie, surface. MandeTille, 

10. 
Siispecious, suspicious. C. T., 70. 
Sutor, suitor. J. C, II. iii. 
Swage A, assuaged. S. A.,184. 
Sivevene, dream. P. P., 22. 
S^weyed, sounded. P. P., 20. 
Swich, pi. Siviche, siich. P. P., 64 ; 

C. T.,5. 
Swinged, singed. A.-S. sencan, to 

consume. F. Q., I. xi. 26. 
Swinlc, labor, past, swonke. P. P., 42. 
Swovigh, stupor. C. T.,150. 
Swowne, swoon. F. Q., I. ix. 52. 
S^voonded, sioooned. 3. C.I. ii. 
Swynlce, labor. P. P., 110. 
Syde, side. P. P., 16. 

Tsiiile, picture. F. Q.,I. ix. 49. 

Tag-ragge, raiWe. J.C.,I. ii. 

Talte. Versions, 3. 

Talaunts, talu7is. F. Q. , I. xi. 41. 

Teche, ieacA. Versions, 26. 

Teene, grievance, grief. F. Q., I. ix. 

34. 
TeWan, tell, count. P. P., 184. 
Textiiit, prove. C. T., 57. 
Than, then. C. T., 6. 
Thanne, than. Versions, 12. Then, 

P. P., 21. 
That. Versions, 3; MandeviUe 3. 
The. Versions, 2. The — the. P.P. 

62; MandeviUe, 14 ; S. A., 166. 
Theigh, though. P. P., 391. 
Then, than. F. Q., I. i. 13. 
Thens, thence. MandeviUe, 11. 



GLOSSARY. 



635 



Ther, there, lohere. P. P., 34, 377 ; C. 

T.,1, 13, 14, 57. 
Tlierinne, therein. P. P., 30. 
Tliewes, manners. F. Q., I. x. 4. 

Nerves, J. C, I. i. 
Tliidre, thither. Mandeville , 10. 
Tliillce, the same, the very. Version.?, 

11; C. T., 21, 108. 
Tiling. Versions, 2. 
Tliise, these. P. P., 123 ; C. T., 41. 
Tho, tliose, they. P. P., 88; Mande- 

Tille, 3, 16. Then, C. T., 70, 102 ; P. 

Q., I. i. 18. 
Thoglite, thought. P. P., 12. 
TYioxikeYi, thank. C. T.,19, 80. 
Thorpe, hamlet. C. T.,21. 
Tlireswold, threshold. C. T. , 34. 
Thridde, third. P. P., 242. 
TLliriWinat, piercing. F. Q., I. xi. 20. 
Tlirouglily, thoroughly. F. Q., I. ix. 

50. 
Tlii'owe, a space of time. C. T., 57. 
Tliurgli, through. C. T., 2, 12. 
Tilie, tUl. P. P., 239. 
To, too. Versions, 2. 
Toft, hill. P. P., 27. 
Togidere, Togideres, together. P. 

P., 92, 126. 
Ions, tongue. P. P., 102 | F. Q., I. ix. 

31. 
To-race, tear to pieces. C. T., 74. ' 
To-rent, rent. C. T.,137. 
TotUer, the other. Mandeville, 3. 
Tour, toioer. P. P., 27 ; C. T., 1. 
Town. C. T.,1. 
Transme^ved, transformed. C. T., 

47. 
Travaille, labor. P. P., 239. 
Treaclioiir, deceiver, one who tricks. 

F. Q., I.ix. 32. 
Trenclia.rt.A,tri-7iching, cutting. F. Q., 

I. i. 17; I. xi. 24. 
Trepassable, that can be passed across, 

navigable. Mandeville, 8. 
Tretee, treaty. C. T., 40. 
TrielicJie, truly, choicely, excellently. 

P. P., 28. 
Trowlble. C. T., 59. 
Truly. Versions, 12. 
Trusse, seize. F. Q.,I. xi. 19. 
Trutlie Versions, 6. 



Tway, two. C. T., 60. 
Tyme. Versions, 9. 

TJncoutli. F. Q., I. i. 15 ; S. A., 333. 

Underne, dinner time. C. T., 30. 

Uii- devout! iciie, undevoutly. P. P., 
195. 

Uneatli, with difficulty. F. Q.,I. ix. 
S3. See Unneth. 

Uneatli, beneath. F. Q., I. xi. 4. 

Unmevalble, immovable. Mande- 
ville, 1. 

Unnetli, Uunethes, loith difficulty, 
C. T., 38; 47. 

Until. F. Q.,I. xi. 4. 

V'esta.rt, started up. F. Q., I. i. 16. 

Use, be wont. J. C, I. ii. 

Vant-ljras, covering for the arm. S. 

A., 1121. 
Vele, veil. F. Q.,I.i. 4. 
Y amy, very, true. C. T.,101. 
Vertiie, virtue. F. Q., I. i. 12 ; Hooker. 
Vewen, view. F. Q., I. i. 23. 
Vitaille, /oot/. C. T.,1. 
Voucliesauf , vouchsafe. C. T., 36. 

Wardes, guards, keepers. P. P., 187 
Ward-mote, ward-meeting. P. P. 

187. 
Wastours, wasters. P. P., 43. 
Watres, ivaters. P. P., 18. 
Wedden, wed. C. T., 4. 
"Weed, clothing. C. T., 116. 
Wcere, ivere. P. P., 4. 
Weet, know. F. Q., I. ix. 23. See 

Witen. 
Weie. See Wey. 
'Wele,iveal. 0. T.,60. 
Wellte, decline, sink. F. Q., I. i. 23. 
Wenclies, young women. P. P., 108. 
TVened, "Wend, weeneil, thought. C. 

T., 55, 91, 100. 
Wente. P. P., 7. 
'Wevciiyjis^, working. P. P. ,37. 
"Werkis, Werltes, works. Versions. 

10; P. P., 6. 
Wery, iveary, wearily. P. P., 13. 
'Wex, waxed. C. T., 38. 
"Wey, and "Weie, way. Versions, 4 ; P. 

P., 95. 



536 



GLOSSARY. 



Weyves, waifs. P. P., 188. 
■Wliaime, "Wliaii, when. P. P., 2. 
Where, adv. Versions, 3. 
"Where, whether. J. C., I. i. ; V. ii. 
Which. Versions, 17. 
Whidir, whither. Versions, 4. 
'WixUovn., formerly, once. C. T., 2. 
Whilest. F. Q.,I.i. 13. 
Whimpled, wimpled. F. Q., I. i. 4. 
Whyleare, just before. F. Q., I. ix. 

28. 
Wighte. C. T.,27. 
Wiste, knew. P. P., 24 ; C. T., 109.- 
Witen, know. Versions, 4. P. P., 

331, 413. 
Withouten, without. Versions, 16 ; 

C. T.,35. 
Wol, Wolt, will, wilt. C. T., 9, 37. 
Wolde, would. P. P., 74. 
Woiied, accusto7ned, wonted. C. T., 

41. 
Woimen, won, past tense of win. P. 

P., 43. 
"Wont, accustot7ied. S. A., 4. 
Woot, Wot, knoivs. P. P., 85 1 C. T. 

15; F. Q.,I. i. 13. 
Wordis. Versions, 10. 
World. Versions, 17. 
Worth, Worthe, become, happen, be. 

P. P., 156, 372. 
Wost, knowest. C. T., 39. 
Wot. See Woot. 
Woxe, g-reio. F. Q., I. xi. 52. Woxen, 

F. Q.,I. X. 2. 
Wrattietb., provokes. P. P., 345. 
Wvie, cover. C. T.,119. 



Wytethe, fotow, 2plu.imper. Manda- 
TUle, 3. 

Y, intensive prefix for ge. C. T., 15. 
Yate, gate. P. P., 208 ; C. T. 137. 
ya^re,gave. C. T.,20. 
Y-hore, iom. C. T., 15. 
Y-broken, broken. P. P., 142. 
Y-cladd, ctod. F. Q.,I. i. 1. 
Y-Arad, dreaded. F. Q.,I. i. 2. 
Yede, ivent. P. P., 80. Past tense, 

yod. F. Q., I. X. 53. 
Yeres, years. P. P., 130. 
Yeveth, giveth. C. T., 6. 
Y-gendred, begotten. C. T., 15. 
Y-lik, alike. C. T., 100. 
Y-malted, made. P. P., 28. 
Ympe, imp. F. Q., I. xi. 5. 
Y-nough, enough. C. T., 22. 
Yonder. S. A., 3. 
Yore, formerly, long time. C. T., 2. 
Youre. See Versions, 1. 
Yourselven, yourselves. C. T., 60. 
Y-pight, situated. F. Q., I. ix. 33. 
Y-roiiiie, run. C. T., 23. 
Y-seyeii, seen. P. P., 319. 
Y-sought, sought. 

J. This, character is used to represent 
a guttural fricative element, gh, both 
pbthongal and aphthongal, also g' and 
y initial. 

5efe, give. Versions, 16. 

3if , give. MandeviUe, 2. 

3it, yet. Versions, 19. 

3ong, young MandeviUe. 



INDEX. 



The figures refer to the pages. 



Abstract affixes, 478. 

Abstracts defined, 434. 

Acatalectic verse, 499. 

Accentuation, 469-471; governing 
principles, 470, 471. 

Addison, Joseph, 276; selections from 
the Spectator, 276-297. 

Affixes, 475-486; prefixes, suffixes, 
475 ; vernacular, Latin or French, 
Gi'eek, 475, 476 ; significant or eu- 
phonic, 476 ; orthoepic or euphonic 
affixes, 477,478; significant, 478- 
486 ; concrete and abstract, 478 ; of 
quantity, property, and relation, 
478-480; grammatical and dis- 
criminative, 480-482 ; prefixes, 
482-484; suffixes, 484-486; con- 
cretes, 484 ; abstracts, 484, 485 ; ad- 
jectives, 485, 486; verbs, 486; ad- 
verbs, 486. 

Agglutinative languages, 439. 

Alliteration, 497, 498. 

Alphabetic elements, phthongal, aph- 
thongal; vowels, consonants, 445; 
tabulated, 453, 465. 

Amphibrach, 500. 

Anapest, 500. 

Angles, invaders of England, 9. 

Anglo-Saxon, vowel system, 447; 
consonant system, 452. 

Ballad stanza, 501. 

Biographical writers enumerated, 
509. 

Csesura, 502 ; two kinds, of the foot 
and of the verse, 502. 

Case in language, its origin, 434. 

Catalectic verse, 499. 

Celtic, a member of the Indo-Euro- 
pean family of languages, 7; its 
contributions to the English, 8. 

Chaucer, Geoffrey, 50; his Clerkes 
Tale, 51. 

Clauses , 435. 

Clerkes Tale, 51. 



Comedy, 517, 518. 

Concretes, 434. 

Concrete affixes, 478. 

Consonants, system of, 450. 

Conditional mood expressed by past 
tense, 20, n. on ver. 7. 

Confusion of tongues and dispersion 
of race, 1, 2. 

Cowper, William, 322; selections 
from the Task, 323-339. 

Dialects, rise and spread, explained, 2. 

Digraphs in English, 459, 460. 

Diphthongs, consonant, 461. 

Discriminative affixes, 481, 482. 

Dramatic literature, 517, 518. 

Dactyl, 500. 

Deliberative orators enumerated, 505, 
506. 

Derivation of words, 472-494 ; modes, 
473; Grimm's Law, 474; by com- 
position, 475; by affixes, 475-486; 
by internal change, 486, 487 ; by 
■ change of use, 487-492 ; change of 
meaning, 487, 488 ; change of gram- 
matical use, 488. 

Elaine, 341-377. 

Elegiac stanza, 501. 

Encj'clopsedias, 513. 

English language, a member of the 
Teutonic branch of the Indo- 
European family of languages, S; 
its rise, 8-10; state at end of 
fourteenth century, 23. 

Euphonic affixes, 477, 478. 

Faerie Queene, selections from, 92- 
127. 

Fiction, 514-516. 

Foot in prosody, 499. 

Form-words, their origin in lan- 
guage, 434 ; enumerated, 437. 

Formative elements of language, 
436. 

Ga}''s stanza, 501. 

Geneva version of the Bible, 11. 



538 



INDEX. 



Gibbs, Professor, his list ot pronom- 
inal elements, 431, 432. 

Grammatical affixes, 480, 481. 

Greek, a member of the Indo-Euro- 
pean family of languages, 7. 

Grimm's Law, 474. 

Hamitic languages, 7. 

Herder, on origin of language, 429. 

Hiawatha, 379-426. 

History, 507-509 ; historians enumer- 
ated, 507, 508 ; biographers, 509. 

Hooker, Richard, 133; selection 
from his Ecclesiastical Polity, 133- 
140. 

Hypercatalectic verse, 499. 

Iambus, 500. 

Illyrian, a member of the Indo-Euro- 
pean family of languages, 7. 

Imperative mood in third person, 18, 
n. on ver. 1. 

Indo-European family of languages, 
6. 

Inflectional class of languages, 6, 
439. 

Inflections in English language at 
end of fourteenth century, 23. 

Intensive prefixes, 482. 

Interjectional theory of the origin of 
language, 3, 4, 437. 

Iranian, a member of the Indo-Euro- 
pean family of languages, 6. 

Italic, a member of the Indo-Euro- 
pean family of languages, 7. 

Judicial orators enumerated, 504. 

Jutes, invaders of England, 9. 

King James' version of the Bible, 11. 

Langland, author of Piers Plough- 
man, 25. 

Language, its origin, 3; the three 
classes of primitive elements, ob- 
ject - elements, thought - elements, 
and person - elements, 4, 5, 428- 
430; primitively' monosyllabic for 
the most part, 5, 439 ; progress to 
agglutinative stage, and to inflec- 
tional, 6, 439 ; ever changing, 440- 
442 ; its departments, 443, 444. 

Latin language, its relationship to 
the English, 9. 

Literature, its departments, 443, 444. 

Longfellow, Henrv Wadsworth, 378; 
his Hiawatha, 379-426. 

Mandeville, Sir John, 42; selection 
from his travels, 43-47. 

Measure in prosody, 499; monome- 
ters, dimeters, trimeters, tetrame- 
ters, pentameters, hexameters, etc., 
499. 



Metaphysical writers enumerated, 
511, 512. 

Migrations of the human race, 2, 3. 

Milton, John, 226; his Samson 
Agonistes, 227-271. 

Monosyllabic languages, 439. 

Miiller, Professor Max, quoted on 
agglutinative languages, 439. 

Northmen,invaders of England, 9, 10. 

Notes on Versions of the Bible, 18- 
23 ; on Piers Ploughman, 31-42 ; on 
Sir John Mandeville's travels, 47- 
50; the Clerkes Tale, 51-92; the 
Faerie Queene, 128-133; Richard 
Hooker, 140, 141; Julius Csesar, 
212-226; Samson Agonistes, 272- 
276 ; Addison's Spectator, 297-299 ; 
the Rape of the Lock, 320-322; the 
Task, 339, 340; Elaine, 377-38S? 
Hiawatha, 427. 

Notion-words, 434. 

Onomatopoetic theory of the origin 
of language, 4, 437, 438. 

Oratory, 503-506; pulpit oratory 
503; forensic, judicial, 504; delib- 
erative, 505, 506. 

Orthoepy, 447-465. 

Orthography of the English lan- 
guage at end of fourteenth cen- 
tury, 23 ; its character, 456-464. 

Ottava Rima, 501. 

Pifion, 500. 

Periodical literature, 512 

Phrases, 435. 

Phthongal and aphthongal elements, 
how distinguished, 458. 

Phj'sical science, writers in, 512. 

Piers Ploughman, 25. 

Poetry, 519-522; departments, di- 
dactic, lyric, epic, 519. 

Pope, Alexander, 299 ; his Rape of 
the Lock, 300-320. 

Prefixes, 482-484; privatives, rela- 
tives, intensives, 482. 

Privative prefixes, 482. 

Pronominal elements of speech, 430- 
432; their early origin, 430-431; 
enumerated, 431, 432. 

Property affixes, 479. 

Prosody, 497-502 ; defined,497; kinds 
of poetic form, 497. 

Pulpit orators enumerated, 503. 

Punctuation, 495, 496; classes of 
points, 495,496. 

Quantitj- affixes, 478; orthograph- 
ical indications of long and short 
quantity, 457, 458. 

Rape of the Lock, 300-320. 



INDEX. 



539 



Relation affixes, 479. 

Relative prefixes, 482. 

Rhj'me, 497, 498 ; perfect, imperfect, 
498; successive, alternate, inter- 
rupted, 498 ; single, double, triple, 
498, 

Rhymes royal, 501. 

Rhythm, 497, 498-500. 

Samson Agonistes, 227-271. 

Sanskrit, a member of the Indo-Eu- 
ropean family of languages, 6. 

Saxons, invaders of England, 9. 

Scandinavian, a member of the Teu- 
tonic branch of Indo-European 
family of languages, 7. 

Scientific discourse, 510-513; theolo- 
gy, 510, 511. 

Semitic languages, inflected, 7. 

Shakespeare, William, 141; Eesthet- 
ic character of his Julius Caesar, 
142-145 ; the Tragedie of Julius 
Cffisar, 145-212. 

Significant affixes, 478-486. 

Slavic, a member of the Indo-Euro- 
pean family of languages, 7. 

Sonnet, 501. 

Speech, origin of, 3; its internal 
principle, thought to be communi- 
cated, 3; interjectional theory, 3; 
onomatopoetic theoiy, 4; defined 
as the communication of thought 
by means of articulate sound, 428; 
starts from thought, is social, and 
has articulate sound as its medium, 
428 ; its elements, matter, person- 
ality, thought- element, 428,429; 
how originated, 429. 

Spenser, Edmund, 92; his Faerie 
Queene, 92. 

Spenserian stanza, 501. 

Stanza, 500, 501. 

Syllabication, 466-468; orthoepic, 
etymologic, and orthographic, 467 ; 
governing principles, 468. 



Tragedy, 517, 518. 

Trochee, 500. 

Tvndale, William, translator of the 
"Bible, 11. 

T3'pographY, influence on orthogra- 
phy, 462," 463. 

Task", the, selections from, 323-339. 

Tennyson, Alfred, 340; his Elaine, 
341-377. 

Teutonic, a member of the Indo-Elu- 
ropean family of languages, 7; 
its contributions to the English, 
9, 10. 

Theological writers enumerated, 510, 
511. 

Thought element in speech, its ori- 
gin, 432 ; stages of progress, 433 ; 
its modifications, 433. 

Unity of race and of language, 
Biblical narrative, 1 ; evidence in 
resemblances found in the earliest 
dialects, 7. 

Versions of the Bible, 11. 

Vision of Piers Ploughman, 25 ; au- 
thor, date, character, and design, 
popularity, 25, 26; selection from, 
26-31. 

Vowels, rise of, 446-450. 

Words, the first, names of objects, 4 ; 
monosyllables, 439; formed on any 
identification of sound with object, 
438; formation of words, 472-494; 
modes, 473; change in meaning, 
487; in grammatical use, 488; ad- 
mission of new words, 489 ; gov- 
erning principles of admission, 
new needs, 489 ; euphemism, 489 ; 
emphasis, 490; parsimony, 491; 
euphony, 491 ; discrimination, 49 ] ; 
number in English vocabulary, 
493. 

WyclifFe. John, translator of the 
iSible, 11. 



THE END. 



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